


Mineral

by Swine



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alien Shit, Amnesia, Friends to Lovers, I use Simmons' cyborg parts as a plot device, Idiots in Love, M/M, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Post Season 15, Will update tags as story progresses, malfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-03-07 03:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13426260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swine/pseuds/Swine
Summary: The Red Team, naturally, absolutely cannot be trusted with an important mission. As such, Washington had decided to give them the easy chore of clearing out an abandoned mine from the Chorus War a few years back. Imagine his disbelief when they arrived with Simmons limp in Grif's arms, the entire team practically in shambles.Once Simmons woke up, he seemed to remember nothing more than his own name. How unfortunate to be named "Dick", huh?





	1. ERROR ERROR - SHUTTING DOWN

**Author's Note:**

> Simmons loses his memory, and Grif contemplates whether this is a good thing or not. I wanted to use Simmons' cyborg parts as a plot device. I think this would take place sometime after Season 15. With Season 16 coming out soon, I don't think this fits within the canon timeline, but you can pretend.

_"...So while this mission isn't_ ideal _, I'm giving it to you since theres absolutely  _ no _way you guys can screw this up." Wash explained, his voice barely above a whisper. The rays of Chorus' sun beamed down on the group of soldiers. The Red Team stood beside the jeep, prepping for what Donut was so excited to call a family road trip. He had a playlist that consisted of a genre everyone wasn't too excited to hear._

 _"Don't bet on it." Grif shrugged. Grif was already in the drivers seat, his hand supporting his head from lack of interest. "We have that quality about us. Our ability to tremendously  fuck something up? It's our thing."_  

 _"And since this mission is surely  dangerous and action-packed, you'll let us use your most explosive and expensive military equipment!" Sarge said without a beat._ 

 _"Nono. No. Just..." Washington said in an exasperated voice. He seemed to have trouble keeping his voice down. Every time he raised his voice, he probably got a painful reminder to keep it down. "You're just  clearing a mine."_  

" _Mine_ field _? " Sarge asked delightfully._

_"No! Just  a regular mine. No explosives involved." Washington and Carolina had been pretty busy over the past couple of days.  What with safeguarding Locus, helping Chorus with the UNSC, etc. _

_Everyone had begged Wash to take it easy, but once he had been discharged, he felt it best to help everyone else as quickly as possible, before something inevitably goes wrong. For whatever reason. Who cares. It was Washington's character development. Not Grif's. It had been an eventful and exhausting couple of days. _

_"Please just  get this done." _

_"Será mejor que nos apuremos. Preferiría alejarme de ustedes idiotas tan pronto como sea posible. Antes de que los idiotas se envuelvan en algo complicado y estúpido._ (We'd better hurry. I'd rather get away from you idiots as soon as possible. Before you get wrapped up in something convoluted and stupid.)"  _Grif mentally agreed._

 _"I know Lopez! This'll definitely be a_ great _way for our team to get closer!"_

" _Deja de traducir Cabrón._ (Stop translating, dumbass.) 

_"We should get going soon in that case." Said Simmons, ignoring the both of them._

_"Thats a good idea." Said Wash. Out of the corner of Grif's eye, he could see Simmons swelling up with a little bit of pride. Jesus. "It shouldn't take long. Just  clear out the area of anything dangerous."_

_"Do we get to keep said dangerous things?" Sarge asked._

_" Absolutely  not."_

" _Damn."_

 

So after the longest car ride of their lives consisting of obnoxious bickering, the same two Mariah Carey songs on repeat with a sprinkle of smooth jazz, and uncomfortable seating positions, the Red Team ends up in their next destination.

With groans and sighs of relief, the group got out of the stuffy vehicle as  quickly  as they could. Joints popping, Grif gave a yawn as he set his sights on the dark mine looming ahead. Construction tape outlined the perimeter. Its faded text confirming that it had been a while since anyone had been there.

"Dear god if I heard one more lyric from 'I Still Believe',  I think  I would've blown my brains out." Said Simmons. 

"At least I added a few 'Endless Love's for variety." Donut replied

"No fue variedad. Fue un infierno. _(It wasn't variety. It was Hell.)_ "

"Thanks, Lopez!"

"Nunca he odiado a nadie más que a ti. _(I have never hated anyone more than you.)"_  Grif stayed still, simply staring into the emptiness of the mine's dark entrance. Mining equipment was scattered around the area. The leaves on the ground fluttered as the wind brushed past the five of them.

"So we just... go in there...?" Asked Grif.

"Yeah?" Answered Simmons.

"Did we bring any lights? Flashlights?"

"Yes, of course we did."

"Ooh! Ooh! Are they those miner helmet flashlights?" Asked Donut.

"No." Answered Simmons.

"Now if y'all are quite done playing 20 questions..." Sarge grumbled. He moved towards the mine, the rest of the team following suit. 

"Wait!" Grif blurted. The group peered at him, confusion probably hidden behind their visors. "I think... Maybe I should just guard the jeep! Yeah."

"Guard the jeep?" Asked Simmons incredulously. "Theres no one out here for miles!"

"You don't know that!" He panicked. "I'm staying here!" Sarge muttered something under his breath and kept forward.

"¿Qué te pasa? _(What's your problem?)_ " Asked Lopez.

"You don't know what can be in there, dude!" Grif said, his grip on his rifle tightening. "There could be... stuff! Bad stuff!" Simmons groaned and shook his head.

"Grif, given your equipment and weaponry, I seriously doubt any bats are actually going to be able to even touch you." He explained.

"I am not taking any risks, dude."

And yet, with the threat of a bludgeoning and a lot of grumbling, Grif ends up in the death tunnel. The Tunnel of doom. The Tunnel of _Dumb_. He's not afraid of the dark, but he'll be damned if he's going to die to some rabies carrying rodent.

The mineshaft's interior was framed with wooden structures spaced through out the tunnel. Lanterns looked to have been hanging from the ceiling about ever five feet along with the wooden frames, though some are either broken to pieces or simply not there. With every step, the gravelly floor made a crunch.

"What are we looking for again?" Asked Donut, shining his flashlight in every corner of the mine. Every time his light shone somewhere new, Grif's heart would skip a beat, as if he was expecting something to jump out at the group and maul them all.

"Just anything that seems out of place." Simmons answered, keeping his flashlight steady.

"Man we are really going deep in this shaft...!" Donut muttered.

"Por una vez en tu vida. Aprende a cerrar la boca. _(For once in your life. Learn to shut your mouth.)"_

The mine, even with the lights, was barely visible. The group caught themselves tripping over nothing, blaming each other for little missteps. _Squeak squeak_.

"SHIT." Grif yelped. Everyone jumped. "WHAT WAS THAT?! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"

"Jesus- Get off me, Grif!" Simmons hissed, trying to keep his composure. "Probably a rat or something!"

"Bat?!"

" _Rat!_ "

"Jesus, private." Sarge said, pointing his shotgun at nothing in particular, only because the lighting was absolutely terrible. "Get a hold of yourself!"

"Well, we're actually captains now, remember?" Simmons corrected.

"Oh right." Sarge said. "Well since I will _never_  stoop as low as acknowledging Grif as a formidable rank, I'm just gonna refer to him as 'other'." 

"Eso no tiene sentido. ¿Saben qué? Ya terminé de hablar. _(That doesn't make sense. You know what? I'm done talking.)_ "

"You okay, Grif?" Asked Simmons irritably. ("Other!" Sarge corrected. "No. _(No.)"_ Lopez replied.)

"I'm fine." He said bluntly. Overall, the mine seemed small and honestly underwhelming. "I swear they just gave us this mission to get rid of us... which I don't blame them for actually."

"Yeah." Simmons agreed. The deeper the team traversed through the mine, the less bright their flashlights seemed. "Gah I know _I'm_ getting a headache..." Simmons slowed a bit, his hand constantly going to his head.

The further they walked, the mine's walls began to close in. It had only been about ten minutes, and yet they were just about finished with the entire mine. Again, it seemed simply underwhelming, but that probably describes their entire dynamic. Red Team: Underwhelming.

"Guys, look!" Donut said, pointing his flashlight onward. Just ahead, a gigantic rock stood tall, looming at the end of the cave, it glimmering in Donut's light. "Ooo! It sparkles! It's pretty!"

"What in jumpin' Jahosafat is that?" Asked Sarge taking a step forward. 

"...Do you think we could sell it?" Asked Grif, his heart still racing at the thought of finding anything unpleasant suddenly flying at him. "People are into rocks these days... Dude?"

Simmons was leaning on a wall, his helmet on the floor. He was clutching his head, beads of sweat drizzling down his neck. Grif could hear his breath getting shallow and noticed his cyborg eye dulling a bit.

"I, um. I'm just gonna stand here for a second." He mumbled. Grif stared for a moment, trying to hide the concern on his face.

"Guys look! It's glowing!" Donut said. Looking ahead, Grif confirmed that, yes, the strange rock began to glow a bright neon orange, it's aura unsettling the group of soldiers.

"Uh... That worries me a little." Grif hesitated.

"Podría ser una bomba. _(It might be a bomb.)_ " Lopez said, his monotone voice echoing in the mine, contradicting how Grif was feeling at the moment.

"It better not be." Grif whispered to Lopez. He wasn't too keen on letting everyone know that he was bilingual. No way he was going to up his reputation.

The rock/bomb/unknown mineral began to glow even more, its bright orange hue startling the soldiers. "Shouldn't we... uh... back away?" Grif said, giving a step back.

"For once, I think thats a good idea." Sarge agreed, stepping back as well. For a few seconds, the mineral shone brighter and brighter, a feeling of overwhelming dread hanging over the squad. It shone even brighter than their flashlights, nearly blinding most of them. Until it simply stopped. It returned to looking like an average rock, while the rest of them adjusted to the darkness.

"...Well thats anticlimactic." Said Donut with a disappointed sigh.

"It's better than dying." Grif let go of the breath he was holding. "Okay... This thing ain't worth sellin'"

"Do you think it counts as something to report?" Asked Donut.

"The glowing rock-bomb? Definitely." Answered Grif. Suddenly. _Thud_.

With a start, everyone twisted around to find Simmons on the floor unmoving.

"Shit!" Tripping over his feet a bit, Grif rushed over to his fallen teammate, everyone unsure of what to do. He softly tapped Simmons' cheeks, but it didn't do much. He noticed the large dark circles under his eyes.

"Is the man breathing?" Pressed Sarge, concern hidden in his tone. Grif pressed two fingers to Simmons' neck, desperate for a pulse. He couldn't hear him breathing, but he think he feels a pulse. Either that, or it was his own pulse as he could feel his heart beating in his ears, and he was desperate for a sign of life.

"I-I, I think so?" He panicked. "Yeah I think..." While Donut was pacing while suggesting CPR, and Lopez spouting random things Grif couldn't care less to mentally translate at the moment, he instinctively picked Simmons up. He was unhealthily pale, or at least paler than usual. It felt unnatural to feel him so limp and cold, which just made Grif's heart race even more.

"We should... We need to leave, right?"

"No la mierda, Romeo. _(No shit, Romeo)_ "

"Actually, Lopez, in Romeo and Juliet, Romeo dies first! So you should call Grif Juliet instead!"

"¿Por Qué traduces las cosas inútiles que digo? _(How come you translate the useless things I say?)"_

"Not. The time." Grif grumbled through gritted teeth.

"Calm down, Grif!" Assured Donut "He probably just fainted since theres barely any oxygen here." For once, something Donut said wasn't entirely stupid. Today was just full of surprises. It definitely had to do with that dumb rock, but Grif didn't feel like arguing about the reason his best friend passed out at the moment.

"Tal vez en lugar de hablar como siempre lo hacemos, debemos dejar. _(Maybe instead of talking like we always do, we should go.)"_ Lopez suggested.

"Yeah." Grif muttered to himself, staring at Simmons a little longer. "Okay yeah, lets go."


	2. DRAM MEMORY FAILURE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons wakes up with the wrong idea. Donut and Lopez go back to the cave. Grif isn't having a very good time.

Richard woke up.

His entire body felt sore, so he couldn't help but grunt a bit when trying to sit up in the bed. Looking around, he realized that he was somewhere he couldn't quite recognize. The small bedroom was empty and quiet. The silence seemed almost deafening enough to hear the crinkle of the bedsheets as he moved around.

The biggest thing bothering him was the throbbing headache on the side of his head. Trying to recall what happened only made his headache worse. A small ringing noise kept making itself apparent in his ears.

Groaning a bit, he was finally able to sit up. He must have had a pretty good night if he woke up sore in a stranger's bed with no memory of the day before. He slowly got out of bed, his muscles aching and begging to stay in bed for a little while longer.

Nervous about confronting the owner of the place, he took his time walking to the door, his entire body pounding in pain. Yawning, he walked out the door and was met with a man asleep on the recliner.

His heart skipped a beat staring at the man snoring in the living room, and he felt his face immediately burn up. The person asleep looked pretty peaceful, the man's hair untidy and ruffled. Honestly, this man seemed way out of his own league. There was absolutely no way he was able to score someone as handsome as that!

What should he do? He could leave, but then again he can't really remember where his own house is. He could ask this guy to get him home, but who knows how the man will react to someone like Richard in his own home.

He searched around for his phone, thinking maybe he has an emergency contact saved, or something of the sort when he actually peered down at his left hand.

"Oh sh-" He whispered when he realized he was met with metal. It looked... cool. Almost like he was in some sort of sci-fi movie. Backing up in a mixture of confusion and amazement, he accidentally bumps into a table and a glass rolled off. "Oh fuck." He muttered.

The man jolted awake, which seemed to scare Richard more than the glass shattering. Grumbling, the man rubbed his neck drowsily. Unsure of what to do, he tried to get under the table to clean up the mess he made. He'd rather not get on his bad side. He could use his awesome robot arm to pick up the glass. How efficient.

"Oh Simmons!" The man said with delight. Surprised, he bumped his head under the table, dropping some of the glass shards from his left hand. "Was that you? I knew you had two left feet, but thats pretty bad even for you."

Oh. Oh he knows him.

"Uh. No sorry that was me." Richard muttered. "I-I tried to clean it, though!" The man chuckled.

"Dude calm down." He said scratching his head. "You know I don't care." The man gave a drowsy smile. Richard was going to lose his mind. And maybe have a heart attack.

"Should I, uh, leave?" He stuttered. "I'm sorry I... I can if you need me to."

"...Simmons this is your place." The handsome man said, his smile fading a bit. "If anything- you should be kicking me out."

"...Wh- Wait really?" Looking around, he never really thought he could afford a place like this. The place seemed minimalistic in a way, didn't think it was really his style.

"Uh... Yeah?" He said hesitantly. "...What, no snarky remarks?"

"What?" He asked. The man seemed genuinely confused, maybe a little bit of concern in his tone. "No? Of course not." The man slowly stood up from the chair, looking uncomfortable. Oh no did he say something wrong? Dammit why is he incapable of human interaction...

"...Hey Simmons?" He asked.

"Yes?" He said, heart racing.

"Whats my name?"

"..."

Was he supposed to know this question? The man seemed to know him pretty personally, so even if he were to lose his memory of the night before, he couldn't have just forgotten someone that important. He racked through his brain, desperate to find an answer, yet nothing came to mind. He tried to remember what happened the day before yesterday, but it was blank. He tried the day before that, and the day before that, and yet. Nothing

"I don't... I can't." Richard's head pounded harder than it did before. "Sorry... I don't think I... know you." The man slid his hands down his face, more annoyed if anything.

"We need to go see Grey..."

 

"Normally I would say this is a case of severe retrograde amnesia..." Started Grey, looking through the glass. "But this isn't a soap opera, and cases of that are extremely rare!" Simmons, on the other side of the glass, sat on the hospital bed, looking around the room curiously.

Grif stared through the glass, already exhausted from the day. He pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a small sigh. He had it all figured out. Grif and Simmons were at a point in their friendship where he was comfortable. They solved a problem and they got closer after doing it. He supposes all that work was for nothing.

"In the cave, he said he had a headache or something." Grif tried to explain. "Then there was this rock, it glowed, and then he fainted."

"...Well that's certainly something!"

"Sure is." Simmons hopped out of bed and walked around the room, curious to find something interesting. "Do you think  _that_ has anything to do with it?"

"It's a possibility." She said. "How long was the time in between the fluorescent mineral glowing and Simmons fainting?"

"Like five seconds."

"Then I don't doubt that it's directly related to his memory." Simmons started to poke something on the wall. Then something fell and a loud crash sounded, startling the both of them.

Glancing through the glass again, Simmons looked to be panicking as both of his hands ran through his hair. Quickly, Simmons brushed the trash under the bed with his feet and peered through the glass as well. He gave two thumbs up.

"...When do you think he'll get his memory back?" Grif asked. "I don't feel like having to take care of both Caboose and Simmons."

"That's not up for me to decide." She explained. "If I find out the reason for... all of this... then maybe I can find the solution."

"...You don't seem too worried!" Said Grey, her cheerful tone not faltering.

"I'm not." Grif lied. "Something stupid like this always happens, we do stupid stuff in the middle, and then it goes back to normal. You'd get used to it if you were me." 

"Alrighty!" She said. If he were perfectly honest, Grif was scared of Grey. Not just because she could probably take a man apart and simply sew him back together with no guilt whatsoever. She was just very good at reading people. Which wasn't really a quality he liked. "I'd hate to ask you to watch him, but he seems to be quite the stickler for breaking my things." She said as another loud shatter came from behind the glass. Grif didn't take the time to see what he broke this time.

"...Noted."

 

"Puede que odie a Grif, pero preferiría a él que a ti.. _(I may hate Grif, but I'd rather him than you.)"  
_

"Nows not the time for jokes, Lopez!" Exclaimed Donut, flashing his light right at Lopez' helmet. "Our friend needs our help!"

"No es mi amigo. Punto que en otro lugar.  _(Not my friend. Point that somewhere else.)_ " Lopez and Donut ventured through the same mine they trudged through yesterday. Lopez was desperate to leave as soon as possible, only because he couldn't stand Donut's commentary. Picking up his pace, Donut easily followed.

Sarge must have figured that he had something better to do, because _he_ certainly wasn't here. Not that Lopez was complaining. Grey asked- well no. Grey _ordered_ the two of them to traverse through the small cave once again, just to get a sample of the dumb rock that made the pansy pass out. He would have easily said no, but he didn't want to get taken apart and thrown into the nearest garbage dump.

"What do you think this rock is all about?" Donut asked.

"Mierda alienígena. _(Alien Bullshit.)_ " Not unlike last time, their flashlight seemed to barely help against the mine's dark cavern. Of course, Lopez didn't have any problems seeing in the dark, but humans are annoyingly fragile and have terrible vision- not just in the dark, but in general.

"Hmm. I sure do hope Grif and Simmons are okay..." Said Donut, thoughtfully.

"Me chupa un huevo _(I don't care.)_ " Replied Lopez simply. He saw a rat scurry away as soon as they had began to approach the end of the mine. Their footsteps echoed and bounced off of the cave's walls.

"I think they'd be a cute couple too!" He chirped.

"No. Parada. _(No. Stop.)_ " Said Lopez. "Esto es algo en lo que no quiero pensar. Vez. _(This is something I don't want to think about. Ever.)"_ The mine's walls slowly closed in the farther they walked, and like last time, the huge rock sparkled under Donut's light.

"There it is!" Donut said. ("Sí no mierda. _(Yeah no shit.)_ ") Donut inched closer to the alien mineral, gripping his flashlight a little tighter. It began to give a small glow, though not as blindingly as the day before. "What kind of rock is this...?"

Donut haphazardly tapped the rock, and to both of the soldiers surprise, pieces of the mineral broke apart and crumpled to the cave floor. It almost looked like dust, if dust was a glowing orange rock of course. The fragile rock's brilliant bright orange hue suddenly became dull once again.

"Deberíamos conseguir una muestra. _(We should get a sample.)_ " Lopez said. Donut was silent. Thats a first. "Por favor, acabemos con esto. _(Please lets just get this over with.)_ " Once again, no answer. Dear lord. Donut didn't faint or something too did he?

Peering to his left, Lopez noticed, no, Donut was still standing by his side. His silence, though a nice change of pace, was admittedly eerie. He won't complain.

"You've been pretty quiet, Lopez!" Donut practically yelled. "Are you creeped out?"

"Acabo de hablar de hace diez segundos. _(I just talked about ten seconds ago.)_ "

"...Oh wait." Donut backed up and took off his helmet. His hair was messy and untidy, his jarring scar on the right side of his face barely visible in the dark. He then took something out of his ears. "I think my hearing aides are broken... How'd that happen?"

"La roca brillaba, luego se detuvo, y luego sus audífonos se rompieron. ¿Qué crees que pasó? _(The rock glowed, then it stopped, and then your hearing aides broke. What do you think happened?)_ " Lopez understood that Donut couldn't hear him, but talking to Donut deaf was no different to talking to Donut in general. "Sólo deberíamos tomar la muestra y irnos. _(We should just take the sample and go.)_ "

"We should go ahead and take the sample and leave!" Said Donut.

"Qué gran idea.  _(What a great idea.)_ "

 

Richard wasn't allowed to touch anything anymore on account of the amount expensive equipment he had broken. He didn't mean to of course! He just touches things that seem interesting, and they somehow end up broken on the floor.

The man, he had introduced his full name as "Dexter Grif", sat in the chair next to the bed in full body armor. His helmet, however, sat on the side table. He was already asleep, though he could've sworn he just woke up about an hour ago. _He must sleep often._ Richard thought. _Looks uncomfortable..._

It would've been nice to have a book or something. The only thing to read was some sort of manual Dexter had given him before collapsing on the chair. Something called "the Red Army Handbook". It was filled with random rules and pointers about some sort of war.  It wasn't really his style. He was just bored enough to read through it.

The doctor suggested that he should talk to Dexter for a while, just to see if he could get memories manually. Obviously, the problem with that is he's currently asleep, so maybe that isn't going to happen. He'd feel terrible for waking him up, since he probably had an exhausting time with Richard's problems already. 

_3.1 (a) No soldier shall leave another behind in the event of an attack, ambush, etc., unless it serves beneficial to the progress of the Red Team._

_(b) A soldier must always put the mission first, unless it is a contradiction of 3.1A_

_(c) If either (a) or (b) is broken, a frivolous trial is necessary, unless his/her armor color consists of the code "#e38913"_

"How is it?" Richard jumped at the sudden noise. Dexter stared at him, dozily scratching his head.

"Th...The book?" Asked Richard. He nodded. "Pretty boring."

"Mmph." Mumbled Grif, seemingly unsatisfied. And then silence. He's supposed to talk to him to get memories manually. But that isn't going to happen, obviously, because Richard is a goddamn mess who can't talk to cute people- or just people in general.

"Uh..." Richard tried to say. He hopped out of bed. "Thanks for... taking me to the doctors and stuff, Dexter." He visibly tensed.

"You don't have to call me that." He said plainly.

"...Your name?"

"You called me by my last name. I called you Simmons. _Simmons_." He explained. He seemed desperate for Richard- Simmons to remember something.

"Why?"

"Thats what you do in the army sometimes." Dex- _Grif_  said with a hint of sarcasm. 

He was in the army? How'd that happen? 

"Did I lose my arm in the army?" Instinctively, Grif awkwardly held his left arm.

"Leg too." Grif said. "And uh. Your eye." How had he never noticed. Reaching down to his right leg, he pulled up his right pants leg to find skin. "Left." Whoops. Doing the same for his left leg, he saw the same sci-fi looking metal leg just like his arm.

While Simmons stared at his own leg in wonder, Grif stared at Simmons. Struggling to say something, he suddenly got up.

"Nah." He said. "I can't do this." Simmons looked up.

"Uh I'm... sorry."

"No stop." Grif ran his hands through his hair. "Don't be sorry. Just make a dumb remark and then move on."

"I um." Simmons mumbled. Grif muttered something and rubbed his eyes. Simmons felt his heart drop.

"This isn't fair. I... I actually worked hard for _us_. First time I ever did too. I felt comfortable with you. And instead you lose your memory, I'm stuck at phase goddamn one, and i'm stuck here with...!" Simmons had to look away. He couldn't look at Grif at all. "...With you." Silence once again.

"...I-"

"I'm gonna go." Grif walked towards the door. "Try to finish the manual." Once he closed the door, Simmons simply stood in the hospital's bedroom, a guilty feeling plunged into his chest. 

He was really terrible at talking to people, wasn't he? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each section is pretty short. I'm more of a dialogue heavy guy myself! I hope you're enjoying it so far...


	3. ERROR CODE: 740B10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating... I just finished my finals for the semester so I should be good for the meantime.  
> Hope you enjoy.

Tucker felt it necessary to remind himself that, even though the teams couldn't matter less, whatever difficulties the Red Team had absolutely wasn't his problem. 

Apparently, Simmons lost his memory or something stupid like that, which seemed pretty typical of the Red Team in general. Because of that, Grey thought it was imperative that we figured out what the deal with the weird mineral was.

"If it could affect two different kinds of technology for the worse, we don't know what it could do!" She would say as Tucker pretended to pay attention. Really, this whole science deal wasn't his thing.

Tucker had finally hopped out of bed from, what he was allowed to say, a long fucking day yesterday, and took a walk. Which he really didn't do often, but Wash always told him that the only solution for sore muscles was to just stretch them out a bit. While doing that though, he noticed Grif sulking away from the hospital.

Red Team drama.

"Christ, whats his deal?" Tucker muttered to himself, rubbing his neck. He heard a snort from beside him.

"Who cares." Sarge grumbled.

"Wow. Sarge. Willingly talking to someone on the blue team?" Tucker snarked. "Is it the end of the world? _Again_?"

"Shut it, you." He said, crossing his arms. "There are about a _hundred_ places I'd rather be right now!" Tucker wasn't really good at talking to old people. Or anyone on the Red Team.

Grif moped all the way to the "temporary apartments" Kimball let them use while they were there doing work for her, and slammed the door behind him. 

"And yet you're here." Tucker said. Goddamn he was starting to sound like Wash. Sarge gave a small _harumph._

"Simmons is out of commission, Grif is unreliable as always, and Donut is... well he's him." He complained. "It's been a hectic few days."

"Hectic?" Asked Tucker, raising an eyebrow. "Man, I had to lift like a total of 300 pounds of rubble and shit! I'm sore all over and it's not even in the good way." 

"Hmph. Grif is _supposed_ to be watching Simmons." Sarge seemed to have totally ignored Tucker, which wasn't a first, but whatever. He looked up at the base. Tucker could probably guess he went back asleep, which didn't seem completely out of character for him. 

"Uh, if you're asking me to watch him, I can't." Tucker said. "Like I said. So sore. So much work yesterday." He groaned.

"Dear lord, you're sounding like Grif." He grouched. "I wasn't askin' you anyway. Got someone better!"

"Do I want to know who it is?"

"A blue so trustworthy, he'd be too stupid to _ever_ betray us."

"...Caboose is watching Simmons."

"Absolutely." 

But who's watching Caboose? Tucker knew from experience that Caboose was not fit for taking care of absolutely anything.

When stranded, he once found a weird space rat that he took care of and named "Cheese" ("They eat cheese! It makes sense you just don't understand, Tucker!" He said.), and less than a day later it somehow turned yellow and died. He seriously doubts Caboose will do anything but annoy Simmons to death.

"Well you know what they say." Sarge said. "One dumb person and another dumb person makes one smart person!"

"No, that just makes two dumb people." Tucker said bluntly. "What are you counting yourself or not?"

"Shut it, blue."

 

Simmons, after waking up, had only talked to about three people. One was Grif, who had walked out on him after Simmons must have said something stupid. Another was Dr. Grey, who seemed... sweet? He had a feeling that she should be taken very seriously. And the last person was a talkative man named Caboose.

While Simmons was sulking in the hospital room, the door suddenly swung open with a well built man standing in the doorway. The man introduced himself as Caboose and didn't hesitate to fill the uncomfortable silence with his own voice. It was a nice change of pace; from awkward to just annoying.

He told stories about the different kinds of things he and the team had accomplished over the years- including Simmons. They were apparently pretty well known heroes, which came as a big surprise to him! Being capable of accomplishing so many things seemed impressive, though he had to admit. Maybe some of the stories were a bit... off? 

"Yeah so _then_ the reporter lady summoned the computer-robot guy, and with his weird magic power thing, the big door broke and then we were all kind of happy again." Caboose finished. "...I am a good storyteller!"

....He couldn't really disprove anythingso this is all he could go on for now.

"Yep." He responded automatically. He hadn't really talked much in the time Caboose was here. He had simply been lost in thought. 

"I did this all the time back with Epsilon." He said in a matter of fact tone.

"The AI thing?" Simmons couldn't help but ask.

"My friend." Caboose said, quieter than Simmons was already used to. He didn't remember Caboose, no not yet, but hearing his inside voice seemed unnatural. The clock in the room ticked and ticked filling the silence in the room. "...He was pretty great. We were like... like you and Grif!"

Like Caboose loved to reiterate during his stories, Epsilon- or Church or whatever the hell. It was too convoluted for Simmons to wrap his head around.  Church and Caboose were supposedly close.

"Grif and I?" He asked. "I... _don't_ think he likes me very much."

"Oh pfft." Caboose waved his hands dismissively. " _Grif_ and _Simmons_! Its hard to say one name without saying the other. Grif... Simmons! See!"

"In that case, was I really good at talking to other people?" Simmons asked. "Y'know like maybe confident and charismatic or something?"

"Nope!" Caboose said bluntly. "You were pretty much always like that!"

"Oh wow." Muttered Simmons. "Great."

"Why... wouldn't he like you?" Caboose asked. Simmons hesitated. Caboose, though sweet, didn't seem like the best person to have an adult conversation with. But Caboose was the only friend he had right now. ...Which was a pretty sad statement once he thought about it, but the truth.

"...I'm not sure." He answered. "Probably because I lost my memory. I dunno."

"Hmm." Caboose hummed. He fidgeted with a loose string on the hospital bedsheets. "...Friends are confusing."

Simmons snorted. "And complicated." He muttered.

"But they're great!" He finished the thought. "You and Grif were the bestest of buddies, but I think he's just confused! I do that sometimes..."

"I could tell." ...Confused. He supposes he and Grif had that much in common at least. _Tap tap._

On the other side of the glass stood Dr. Grey with a smile. 

 

Emily Grey rarely worked in an indirect matter. She much preferred working up close to analyze for herself rather than have someone else bring her the answers. No, Grey would work independently for most of her work.

And yet, the Reds and Blues seemed to allow- well force really, her to accept help from others. It wasn't an easy change of course, but she can certainly get used to it.  So thats why she felt it necessary to help the Reds and Blues in anyway she could. At least to pay them back in a way. 

"So you found the reason why it's happening." Said Grif. "You know how to change him back?" Simmons sat next to Grey, looking a bit ashamed. When Grey had called Red Team for a talk, they all seemed eager to see if Simmons could return to normal. The clock ticked in the corner, making everyone much more anxious than they should be.

"Almost!" Just then, Grif got up from his chair, and walked near the door without a second thought. "Don't." She commanded. Mumbling to himself, Grif dragged himself to his seat and plopped down, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

"Muy maduro. _(Real Mature.)_ " Said Lopez next to him. Grif gave him a look which surprised Grey. She didn't think he'd be the one to take the time to be bilingual, but it made sense in a way. She'll have to remember to ask him about it later!

"Now now no bickering." She calmly said. "Thats _obviously_ not why I called you here."

"Well then why _did_ you call us here?" Donut asked, his cheery voice echoing in the room. "I mean arguing is sort of our thing."

"Please let me talk, and I'll tell you!" She chirped. Her sickeningly sweet voice gave chills, silencing everyone immediately. Intimidating these soldiers was easier than it seemed.

"Investigating the mineral, I found out that the 'rock' is actually an alien element!" She started excitedly. "Its very closely related to cobalt and magnesium, and I wouldn't be surprised if the new element evolved from the two, or the other way around! I think maybe the cosmic rays blasted the atom's nuclei apart, or just possibly the mine's carbon fused with helium somehow and made it. Either way it really is interesting!"

"I understood everything you said perfectly." Sarge lied. "But uh. Just for these bozos, I think you should simplify it a bit." Grey, of course, knew Sarge was a bit of a sucker for chemistry, as was she, but sometimes she talks so fast, she forgets that she's talking to other people.

"To summarize, the magnetic properties in the element must have wiped out Simmons' memories!"

"So he lost his memory to a fucking magnet." Grif mumbled. "Great. Fucking fantastic everybody."

"I'm sure there are solutions for fixing a computer from a magnet, right?" Donut asked.

"What are we gonna do? Get a keyboard and reboot him?" Argued Grif. "There are no goddamn buttons!"

"W...I'm a robot??" Simmons sounded petrified. 

"No." Said Grif.

"Kinda." Said Sarge.

"Yeah." Said Donut.

 _"_ ¿A quién le importa? _(Who cares?)_ " Said Lopez.

"If it affects robots..." Donut asked with thought. "Then shouldn't Lopez be all jumbled right now?"

"Qué pena _. (What a shame.)"_ Lopez said.

"I'm still working on that part." Answered Grey. "I've only had a few hours to figure all of this out after all!"

"As for Simmons." All eyes peered at Simmons. Simmons, if he was uncomfortable before, definitely is now. "Grif is correct in assuming that this wouldn't be that easy." (Sarge grumbled to himself as Grif simply rolled his eyes.)

"What do we do then?" Donut asked.

"Same as what you were doing before! Telling him stories, showing him photographs..." She looked Grif in the eyes. "Keeping them company!" Grif shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Either his memories will be triggered, or it will come with time." She explained. "I'm not sure which."

"That'll be all!" She finished. One by one, the red soldiers left the room. "Ah, but Grif I'd like a second, if you don't mind!"

"Mmmfine." Mumbled Grif. Sarge snickered at him as Donut excitedly told Simmons stories of when they were stationed back at Blood Gulch. Most of them however, were memories Simmons might not have wanted to remember. "What."

"I'm just going to jump right to the point." She started. "Simmons is confused right now, so your attitude is not helping anyone."

"I don't have an attitude." He said monotonously.

"See like that!" She smiled. "You're worried about losing your friend, I understand that. But if he gets his memory, all he'll remember is you being, excuse my french, a dick." Grif scratched his head, awkwardly refusing to look Grey in the eyes.

"Thats all he remembers me as anyway." He shrugged. "Why break the goddamn streak..."

"Then let him remember you differently." She said. "You know. As yourself! Not the fake persona you put up so people wouldn't expect too much of you."

"..." Grif was silent. 

"Some of you like to forget that I was both a therapist and a psychiatrist before I was a surgeon." She said factually. "You guys are quite easy to read." She chuckled.

"What... should I do?" He hesitated. He obviously wasn't used to taking initiative, though asking for help is definitely a good start. She should know.

"Apologize." She said. "And just talk to him."

"...Alright." He mumbled. "Yeah fine okay."

"He was just discharged today." She explained. "If you want to talk to him, you'll have to find him first." Mumbling to himself, Grif got up.

"Alright." He said with a much different tone from before. As he walked out the door, he stopped. "And uh. Thanks Grey."

" _Doctor_ Grey!"

"Yeah yeah whatever." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, banging my head on the wall: "I. Can't. Write."  
> This is more of a character study story if anything! I hope you're enjoying the story, and I guarantee actual Grimmons things will happen in the next chapter.


	4. WARNING: OVERHEATING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons and Grif finally talk things out (kinda) and Dr Grey makes a scientific discovery the hard way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha whoops, this story is gonna be a little bit longer than I had thought. "Little" meaning I'm halfway done...  
> Zoinks my dudes, writing is hard...

He remembers his days on the lonely planet. The sun shone brightly as the peaceful ocean waves were the only noises he could listen to. The quiet used to be uncomfortable, giving him the idea of filling the silence with his own voice. His constant babbling helped pass the time, but it was never enough. His sanity, as time went on during his vacation, slowly diminished. Afterwards, Grif refused to be alone. Almost every day, he'd cling to Simmons, almost as if he was going to disappear once again.

So when Simmons lost his memory; when he wasn't _himself_ anymore, how could Grif pretend like everything was okay? Simmons didn't look at him the same way. Instead of a small smirk and a roll of the eyes, he just looked... confused. He just wasn't the same. And yet, because of a stupid guilt trip from the terrifying doctor, he's forced to go on some sort of wild goose chase trying to find Douglas goddamn Quaid.

Roaming around, Grif searched for Simmons, desperate to get the embarrassing conversation over with. He's thinking maybe he'll say something meaningful and profound, Simmons will be moved and forgive him, and the two of them will be on the same page again. The feelings-fest will be over, Simmons might get his memory back, and everything will be back to normal. It has to.

Walking into the apartment building, Grif muttered to himself. After the recent history of the planet, people all over the galaxy wanted to move in. That meant there weren't many places for the Reds and Blues to stay in the meantime. The best Kimball could supply them with was an apartment building in the middle of the city. Luckily, Grif had figured out that the elevator was out of order beforehand, and demanded that he got the first floor once he arrived. He'd rather die before running up twenty flights of stairs just to go to his bedroom.

Another plus, Simmons' room was right next to Grif's. ...Well okay, this wasn't the perfect scenario, but it was convenient for when Grif decided to annoy his buddy. He knocked on the door, waited for about thirty seconds, and sighed. No. Of course, it wouldn't be that easy. With a huff, Grif skulked out of the complex and pinched his nose.

Grif, before resorting to aimlessly wandering the city, actually decided to use his head. If there's one thing that he noticed, is that Simmons didn't inherit a sudden surge of confidence from his lack of memory. So why he was anywhere but his room was a certainly a mystery. He recalls Simmons uncomfortably listening to Donut's stories, which might've slowly transitioned into stories absolutely no one would want to listen to. Is he still with Donut? He hopes not. Torture like that seemed cruel and unusual.

Dreading what he knows he has to do, Grif walked towards the stairway to the second floor. Taking just one step, Grif contemplated his life choices. Everything he had done led up to this moment. He had taken down a superior and powerful organization, saved an entire planet from an endless civil war, and here he was, forced to walk up a flight of stairs. His groan echoed in the large stairway as he walked up the steps.

Grif had never seen what Donut's room looked like, and he hoped he'd go through his entire life not figuring out the answer. The things he'd do for Simmons, he swears. Nearly ready to knock on his door, Grif halted, his hand hovering beside the door. He didn't know why, but he hesitated. He was a bit nervous to show any emotion other than boredom or laziness. ...Was laziness an emotion? Who knows. He didn't want Simmons to view him as weak, he supposes. He'll end up expressing himself once, and before he knows it, he's alone again with that terrible sinking feeling in his stomach, and before he realizes, he'll end up-

"Hi, Grif!" Donut exclaimed, startling Grif out of his daze.

"Sh..! Jesus, Donut!" Grif said, attempting to calm himself and slow his heartbeat.

"Sorry, sorry!" He apologized. Peering inside Donut's room, it actually seemed pretty dull. Which was quite the shock as Grif expected a pink hellscape of organized paintings on the walls and tacky couches. Maybe he wasn't allowed to. Thank Christ for the apartment building's rules. "You never come upstairs, Grif! What do ya need?" 

"Is Simmons in there?" He jumped to the point, desperate to either talk to him or leave.

"Oh naaah." Donut waved his hand dismissively. "He left a while ago! He said Washington needed him for something?"

"Why...?" He said with a slight whine. Simmons made his life infinitely harder, it didn't matter if he had his memory or not. Washington's room was two more flights of steps higher. It was a good attempt, Grif supposes.

"I think he wanted to reassure Simmons personally!" Donut explained. "You know how good Wash is with pep talks." Oh good, Washington was probably explaining to Simmons how Grif isn't _always_ that much of an ass.

"God. It's like I'm digging myself this gigantic manhole fucking stupid." Grif groaned.

"Oh, I know all about man's holes, Grif." Donut said, trying to sympathize.

" _Man. Hole._ " Grif emphasized. "Fuck it. I'm going back downstairs." He started towards the stairway, deciding to sleep everything off as per usual.

"Oh! Oh! Wait!" Donut said. "Simmons actually asked about you!" 

"...What?" Dammit. Goddammit. "What'd he say? Was it important?" He asked quickly. He couldn't help it as his heart skipped a beat, a small blush tinted his face with both intrigue and embarrassment. How utterly cliché.

"He just asked if you were feeling alright." Donut asked. "I didn't want to answer for you, but I told him you're okay! Didn't want him to worry anyway!"

"Uh..." Grif didn't really know what to say. Feeling confused seemed to be a recurring theme for him today. He couldn't help but ask himself if Simmons was only worried because of the lack of memory, or if he would've asked about him anyway. "So you said he'd be in Wash's room?"

 

"...You walked all the way upstairs?" Wash's scratchy and faint voice dripped with scepticism. 

"Yeah." Grif answered.

"Two flights."

"Yep."

"On your own."

"Yes."

"...Really?" Washington asked incredulously.

"Listen is Simmons here, or do I need to walk all the way back downstairs, because I will not hesitate to jump out that window right now if it means getting back down to the first floor." Grif pointed at the window in the room, a faint orange glow shining down into the room. It was getting late, and he'd much rather get this done before nightfall.

"He's here don't worry. ...And please don't jump out the window." He added. "He's sitting in the living room." 

"Alright good." Wash stood in the doorway awkwardly while Grif scratched his head in the hallway. He's pretty sure Simmons is uncomfortably watching this entire exchange unfold, and here he is, looking like a damned fool. "...So like..."

"Yeah, I can uh." Wash stammered. "I have a thing to do, anyway. You, um, go ahead."

"Thanks..." Washington pushed passed Grif, clumsily patting him on the shoulder, and walked down the hallway opting towards the stairs. _How graceful._ Grif thought to himself and peered into the room. Simmons stared at the floor, seemingly unsure of what to do. 

"You don't make things any less weird, y'know." Grif said to Simmons.

"Uh. Sor..." Simmons stopped himself. "Yeah, I know." Grif stepped inside, making sure to close the door. He wasn't risking Donut standing in the doorway watching this entire thing develop, like some kind of creep.

And then silence. He should be used to it by now. Should be.

"...Jesus okay. I guess I have to say it." Grif sighed. Simmons looked at Grif with the same confused look on his face he had expected. "Look. Don't think any of this is your fault, 'cause it isn't. You were confused, and I just left you there like a dick."

"Well, not exactly-"

"Nope. A dick. I'm having a moment here, dude, let me finish." Grif interrupted. Simmons nodded and shifted in his seat to get more comfortable. "You just need...  _normal_ company, and instead you've had to suffer days in the hospital with Grey and terrible stories from Donut about God knows what." Grif tried his best not to say anything especially sappy. He's just apologizing not pouring his feelings out to a confused young man with no memory of Grif whatsoever. "So I'm sssssssorry. I'm sorry." He stuttered. Done. He finished. An amazingly heartfelt conversation. Over.

Simmons paused.

"...I had to talk with a guy named Caboose for a while too."

"Dear lord, you had to _what_?" Grif asked with a hint of sympathy.

"Given the fact that half of my body is made out of metal, I think I can say that I've _probably_ been through worse." Simmons shrugged. "...Donut says we were pretty close? Well, he phrased it differently, but..."

Ignoring the disgusted face Simmons made, Grif sat down next to him on Wash's small couch. He hopes he doesn't have to stay here longer than needed. "Yeah, I mean... Well don't listen to anything Donut says, but we were pretty good uh. Friends." He wasn't used to calling Simmons a friend, or at least, not out loud. He definitely thought of him as one, but to openly admit it seemed strange.

"Besties?"

"E-Excuse me?" Asked Grif dumbfoundedly.

"That's what Caboose said." Simmons seemed to genuinely trust Caboose's input, which was pretty alarming.

"Sure, but just... don't say that ever again." Simmons chuckled a little, reminding Grif why he had stayed by Simmons' side for so long. 

"Will do." He seemed to pause for a moment, thinking about what to say. "...Thanks for apologizing, Grif." 

"Whatever man. I had a gut feeling you would have had a heart attack if I didn't say something soon." Grif shrugged. Simmons scoffed. "What?"

"Must have had a lot of that feeling then, huh?" Simmons snorted. He looked at Grif with that smug smile Grif could never help but smile back at, just a little bit. Grif was taken aback, a small shock coming over him. Holy shit. Suddenly, his face twisted into utter horror. "O-Oh my god! I mean- Holy shit I'm really- I'm sorry I didn't...!"

"Okay, whatever I walked into that one." Grif interrupted, unable to suppress a genuine smile. Simmons stared at Grif, giving him a new look that made Grif feel something indescribable in his chest. "Chill out. You said this kind of shit all the time." A small tint of red brushed on Simmons' face as he gave a sigh of relief.

"I guess some things are just instinct..." Simmons said, a small awkward smile threatening to appear on his face. For some reason, it gave Grif a small feeling of ease. "What else was I like?" He asked. They had talked for a while. Simmons surprisingly seemed eager to listen to Grif and his stories of the two soldiers, and the little personality quirks Grif enjoyed about him. And sufficed to say, Grif felt good for the first time in a while.

 

Emily Grey had always wished she had a lab, but she supposes beggars can't be choosers. She sat at the desk in her bedroom, examining the strange mineral. It's fluorescent orange light lit the room naturally, looking beautiful in the dark room. The mineral looked a bit like sand in a way, though its texture seemed much smoother. Moonlight poured into the room as well, shadows of tree branches looming tall outside dappled into the room's floor.

Chewing on the edge of her pen, she examined the alien rock, seemingly desperate to scribble down any more notes that would be of use to her. Rolling the office chair to her bedside table, she grabbed her alarm clock. Rolling back, she sat the electronic next to the solid element-like rock (she called it Delensium because personally, she loved naming things), and its faint glow had gotten brighter, seemingly absorbing the properties in the clock somehow. Once its bright hue dulled a bit, she pressed anything on the clock. It stopped working.

Mostly, she did this out of boredom. The strange element, yes while interesting, gave her no solutions by simply looking at it. And while she would love to divulge into the enigmas of the mineral, she really didn't have the proper tools to investigate. Of course, she hadn't given up, but today wouldn't be the day to figure everything out. Resting her head on her hand, she sighed. Of course, it obviously wouldn't be that easy.

She pushed her chair out from under the desk and started to retreat to the door, desperate for a walk, when suddenly everything was dark. Emily tripped over nothing, taken aback by the sudden blackness of the room, the only source of light was the moon's light that spilled on the floor.

"...Hm." She mumbled to herself, searching for the desk in the dark. She hadn't seen the rock completely dull at all, and it filled her with a sense of unease. After a few seconds, her sense of unease faded as nothing happened. With a small huff, she groped for the doorknob.

Suddenly, a blinding yellow light filled the room.

 

Some people screamed at the sight of a small explosion sounding from a few blocks away. Washington panicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOING RESEARCH, I JUST REALIZED THAT THIS STORY IS ALMOST LIKE TOTAL RECALL BY SCHWARZENEGGER. THAT WAS COMPLETELY UNINTENTIONAL, YET HILARIOUS.  
> ANYWAY, TUNE IN FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER BECAUSE THIS ONE WAS ACTUALLY PRETTY HARD TO WRITE.


	5. FORCED FACTORY RESET - INCOMPLETE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif and Simmons visit Grey in the hospital. Carolina, Tucker, and Caboose rummage through the rubble.

"It's barely been three days," Started Tucker, leisurely holding his helmet under his arm. "And Simmons lost his memory, Grey's place fucking _exploded,_ and Caboose put his helmet on backwards again." Standing beside Tucker, Caboose tried to speak, his muffled voice yelling indiscernible nonsense.

"Jesus Christ, again?" Grif groaned. "It took us hours to wedge that goddamn thing off of his head last time." Caboose attempted to partake in the conversation, failing once again. Simmons felt a bit embarrassed when he remembered Grif explaining to him how much of an idiot the soldier was. While in the hospital, he listened and believed the man who didn't know how to correctly put on a helmet.

"Guys," Carolina said, pinching the bridge of her nose. As they stood near the remains of the building, the men clearly tried to avoid the uncomfortable atmosphere that Carolina seemingly pushed on them. Sometimes, people would pass the scene. Some would try to ignore the disaster, while others couldn't help but gawk at it. "We were lucky Washington caught sight of the explosion so quickly."

Simmons felt uncomfortable in the weight of the heavy armour, it's dark red tint shining in the rising sunlight. He supposes he should be used to this, even without his memory. From what he remembers Grif saying, he'd wear armor like that almost every day.

"The doctor... She's okay, right?" Simmons asked Carolina. He, for some reason, had a strong feeling that she was the leader. She had a strange confidence and sense of authority that none of the other soldiers had.

"Don't worry, she's alright." She said with a small sigh. "She'll stay at the hospital for a bit, at least until she recovers." At least it's an atmosphere Grey was already used to.

"Amazing," Tucker said bluntly. "What now?" Simmons could only guess that Caboose had proposed an idea, but no one cared to listen to his nonsensical ideas and muffled voice. Carolina gestured towards the debris of the building. 

"We need to figure out how and why this happened," Explained Carolina. "If this sort of thing happens again, maybe in a public space, we might not be so lucky with the number of casualties."

"What about Simmons?" Grif asked. "He's not too useful when he doesn't remember jack shit." Simmons gave Grif a glare. "No offense."

"I'll be fine." Rolling his eyes, Simmons stood tall, with a false sense of confidence. It seemed like instinct to try and impress the nearest leader.

"Alright, but don't push yourself," Carolina said. "Grif and Simmons, you two will go see Emily. See if she knows what happened. The rest of the red team will go back to the mine, just to see if there's anything that you missed."

"We've been there like a billion times already!" Said Donut, shifting his feet. "All that's there is the weird rock stuff."

"No offense, Donut, but you and your team aren't the most observant," Said Tucker, bluntly.

"We have a robot!" Sarge exclaimed, with a hint of pride. "I know Lopez would'a seen anything else outta place."

"Sí, no me importaba lo suficiente como para prestar atención. (Yeah, I didn't care enough to pay attention.)" Lopez said.

"Yeah! Lopez knows whats up!" Donut exclaimed. Although Lopez didn't have a face, Simmons could see the exasperated look Lopez gave Donut. 

"We're getting off track," Carolina said.

"What a surprise," Grif muttered.

"Tucker, Caboose and I will look through the debris, seeing if there's anything of interest." She continued. "Depending on Wash's condition, he might be able to join us too."

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me!" Tucker groaned. "Carolina, we've been doing the heavy lifting for days. How come we have to do this shit, while _they_ get to walk around doing literally nothing."

"Hey man," Grif said, crossing his arms. "We do a lot more than you realize." 

"Like hell!" He argued. "We spent a stupid amount of time trying to figure out how to get your hand out of the goddamn peanut butter jar!"

"Do I really spend time with all of you every day?" Asked Simmons, with a hint of disbelief.

"Regretfully, yes," Tucker answered.

"Well, Tucker, did you want to go with the Reds?" Carolina asked. "I'm sure they'll appreciate the extra help." Tucker's eyes darted from the Red Team to Carolina, the arithmetic forming in his brain.

"Well y'know," Started Tucker. "I think you guys might need help with all these rocks. It's a job for three people." Behind him, a rock in the gigantic pile of debris crumpled and fell to the bottom, pebbles bouncing down as well with a thud.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Carolina said. "Simmons was just discharged from the hospital. For now, I think it's best to conserve his strength."

Simmons simply rose his hand, eager to tell Carolina that he was in great shape. But before Simmons could interject, Grif nudged him.

"Don't," Grif whispered, almost as if he knew what Simmons was about to say. Well, maybe he did. After all, Grif seemed to know him better than Simmons did himself.

"Well, let's get a move on." Said Carolina, putting back on her helmet. "I have a weird feeling that we won't have all the time in the world."

 

"Ah, so you came to see me!" Grey chuckled. "Will this be for business or pleasure?" Grif and Simmons stood next to the hospital bed, Grif leaning on the nearby wall. Although Grey looked exhausted and impaired, she still showed a hint of assertiveness, which was a feat Grif couldn't help but be impressed by. 

"A little bit of both?" Said Simmons a bit awkwardly.

"Mostly business," Grif confirmed. It was the same hospital that Grey worked at, so the scenario seemed just a little ironic. He thinks it was ironic. Or silly. He was never sure of the exact definition.

"Makes sense." She tried to sit up but seemed to have regretted it as she muttered curses to herself and laid back down. Both her right arm and leg were in splints. Grif had only ever seen Grey in either power armour or doctor's scrubs, so seeing her in a hospital's gown was only a bit disconcerting. "About the explosion, I'm guessing?"

"No." Said Grif bluntly. "About the big game yesterday." Grey simply glared at Grif with an unperturbed look. Again, Grey was impaired and laid in a hospital bed, she still seemed threatening, which was a feat that scared Grif. Only a little. "Yeah about the explosion."

"Yeah, we need to know what happened," Simmons said, ignoring Grif's sarcastic blunder.

"Hm." She said. "I was experimenting with the element, desperate for answers. After a bit, I discovered that it absorbs electricity for a reason I wasn't able to figure out yet. When it finished gathering electricity, either a particle split in the Delensium, or it gathered too much energy and... exploded. I'm still working on it."

"...That's a lot of stuff I didn't pay attention to." Grif said.

"Don't worry I paid attention." Said Simmons. "I'm starting to figure out that I need to think for the both of us."

"So you still don't remember anything?" She asked. She seemed to slowly get up, using only her right arm.

"Um, that's a no," Simmons said, avoiding eye contact.

"I figured as much." She sighed. "When the element released its energy, I thought maybe you would regain your memory somehow. I suppose it was a bit of a stretch."

"Don't worry, we're working on it," Grif said, with a hint of confidence Simmons seemed to catch.

"Is that all you came for?" Grey asked.

"Well, ye-" 

"Actually, we were wondering if you were doing okay!" Simmons interrupted. _Nice call._ Grif thought. Simmons' brownnosing ability seemingly off the charts. He supposes his memory didn't stop him from being a complete apple polisher. Or maybe a good person. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference...

"Oh!" She said delightfully. "Other than the broken limbs and impaired hearing, I'm great!" Grey peered at the clock and gave a sigh. "Sorry to say this, but the hospital is on a strict schedule. You'll have to leave in a couple of minutes."

"Oh yikes." Said Grif looking at the clock on the side of the wall. It was an hour from noon, the clocks ticks echoed in the room. "Alright, uh, come on, dude."

"Alright, thank you, Dr Grey," Simmons said. 

"You two be safe now!" She said with a smile. "And if I figure anything out, I'll be sure to tell you."

...

He had to be honest, Grey was in a weird part of the hospital, so not getting lost was out of the goddamn question. And yet, Simmons refused the fact that he had gotten the two of them lost in the first place.

"I've been here before," Simmons would've said, despite the fact that he had not only been there just once but lost all of his memory. "We're not lost, I know where I'm going."

"Mhm," Grif said, rolling his eyes. "Okay, Simmons." 

"Stop patronizing me!" ...Grif couldn't help but smile. Simmons barely changed, which was a bit a relief to him. Instead of treating Grif like a distant stranger, he felt like he was being treated like an old friend. Which he rightfully was, of course. "Okay, left here. I'm pretty sure."

"Alright. This was fun," Started Grif. "but I'm pretty sure if we ask someone where to go-"

"No. Nope." Simmons interrupted. "I know what I'm doing." Not having the energy to argue, Grif chuckled to himself and followed Simmons to wherever the hell he seemed to be taking him.

"How about some small talk?" Grif said with sarcasm dripping from his voice. "You hear they're renewing the X-Files? Crazy right?"

"Don't know what that is," Simmons said.

"...Star Wars?"

"Nope."

"Battlestar Galactica?!"

"I lost my memory, Grif," Simmons said with scepticism. "Why would I remember any of that?"

"No, Simmons. This is a lot more important than you realize." Grif started, only half joking. "You understand the different genres of movies and books, right?"

"I know about the contents of sci-fi, fantasy, all of that," Simmons explained as the both of them turned another left.

"You don't remember a single thing about Star Trek, though?" Grif asked incredulously.

"Not a thing," Simmons shrugged and confirmed, peering around the hallway. He must've been looking for a map or something. "Probably has something to do with stars."

"Jesus Christ, dude." Grif shook his head. "Okay, tonight we can watch the Star Wars movies. I remember you fucking loved them."

"What like a date?" Grif nearly stopped in his tracks, nearly having a heart attack. Did he just...? He turned to look at Simmons, seeing if he looked the same way as Grif felt. Which was normally the case. And yet, Simmons seemed stonefaced. Not a hint of regret, no tint of red, Simmons simply seemed to keep his composure.

Oh, that slick bastard.

"Uh. Uh. Um." Grif stuttered. "I-I mean-"

"Shit." Grif had been too busy having a panic attack to realize that the both of them had reached a dead end. "Okay uh. This is fine." Grif tried to make a clever retort or at least something. Instead, he fumbled with his words and clumsily nodded.

"Are you okay, Grif?"

"It's all good." 

 

Caboose wished that lifting things was his job more often. Instead of going to boring meetings and discussing politics, he gets to actually do stuff. It was a nice change of pace, or at least he thought so. Tucker seemed to disagree as he trudged through the rubble and kicked some of the rocks off of each other.

"You gotta pick them up, Tucker!" Caboose explained. "Like this!" Caboose picked up a particularly big rock and held it up proudly above his head.

"Yeah, no shit Einstein!" Tucker said.

"Come on, Tucker," Carolina said with a disappointed sigh. "Just get it over with." Muttering something Caboose couldn't hear, Tucker pushed the rubble away as well.

Caboose threw away the rock he was holding. His arms were starting to get tired.

"Jesus, Caboose!" Tucker said. "Watch where you're throwing that shit!" He was unsure why he was in such a bad mood today. Sure, Tucker complains a whole lot, but this was pretty new.

"Well, uh, maybe you should get out of the way when I throw rocks at you." Caboose proposed.

"How would I even- Nope," Tucker said. "I just realized I was going to start a conversation with you." Tucker went back to _his_ rock pile, and so Caboose did the same. Or at least, he was about to do some more heavy lifting when he saw a strange rock in the middle of the rest of the debris. Although it sparkled, it's rough outside seemed pretty dull. 

"Huh- Hey guys look what I found!" Caboose proudly held the weird rock up to both Carolina and Tucker. Immediately, the two of them backed up with a start.

"Caboose!" Tucker said, backing up. "Put that. The fuck. Down."

"Why?" Caboose asked.

"Just put it down, Caboose," Carolina said with a warning tone. Shrugging, he tossed the weird rock away which made both Carolina and Tucker flinch immediately. 

"Jesus." Tucker sighed. "That's probably the thing that made the building explode, huh?"

"Yeah definitely." Carolina agreed.

"Oh! Pft it was just a bomb!" Caboose laughed. "I think I've carried my fair share of _bombs_ before, guys." Ignoring Caboose, Carolina walked towards the weird rock.

"Uh, yeah Carolina that's not... a good idea." Tucker worried.

"...Hold on." She said simply, picking the rock up. She inspected it closely, the mineral sparkling in the sun. "Emily said that the mineral was orange."

"Yeah, what about it?" Tucker asked.

"Well, it's yellow for starters." Carolina fondled the rock for the two soldiers to see.

"Well I dunno, maybe Grey is colorblind or something." Tucker shrugged. "...Okay but wait. She said that the thing glows too right?"

"She did."

"Oh did I break it...?" Caboose asked. "I do that sometimes..."

"Do you think that Grey would want to know about this?" Tucker asked.

"Definitely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHIT. SORRY. NOT DEAD.  
> Like I said earlier on, this is something I definitely plan on finishing. So don't worry about it!!


	6. <body style="armour-color:maroon;">

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang hangs out in a pretty shitty diner, and later Simmons and Grif talk while watching tv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The two gay douchebags absolutely destroy a harmless British television show. Their opinion doesn't reflect mine- BBC is a pretty okay network,,,

"A fucking bomb," Grif said, lounging on the comfortable red booth bench. "Y'know, I want to say I'm surprised, but the fast few years taught me not to be." Food was scattered around the table, noisy bickering from the other table disturbing the few other customers in the diner.

"Yeah, and why the hell are we all just chilling in some restaurant?" Asked Tucker, picking at his food. Tucker's plate was completely untouched aside from the few fries he seemed to have picked off.

"Hey, I'm not complaining." Shrugged Grif, taking a huge bite out of his burger. Unlike Tucker, Grif was nearly finished with his food. Some would call it impressive given the fact that they all had just gotten their food and he had ordered twice as much as the entire table, but the soldiers seemed to describe it as normal. Normal and disgusting.

"Of course you're not," Simmons muttered. The five of them sat near a window, water dripping down the surface. Moonlight shone through the pane as the rhythm of the rain pattered on the glass. The remainder of the team sat on the opposite side of the diner, most likely giving waitresses migraines.

It was pretty late- around eleven or so, and Tucker felt like all of them should go home as soon as possible. He caught himself peering over at Table Dipshit quite often, trying to listen to their conversation. Not that they had anything important to say, but Tucker just needed to make sure.

"I thought you all might have wanted a break," Carolina said after sipping her drink. She didn't order nearly as much as Grif did, but damn did she order a lot. With Carolina and Grif's food covering the table, the rest of the group had to huddle their plates near its edge.

"Hell yeah, we do," Tucker affirmed, resting his head on his hand. He pushed his plate away with a small huff. "I'm just wondering why, when we know there's basically a megaton bomb in a mine, we're all on a nice coffee date." As Tucker made his usual snarky remarks, Grif subtly dragged the plate over to his side of the table. It was to be expected- Tucker wasn't planning on eating it anyway.

"I have never been on a date with four other people before!" Shouted Caboose across the room, sitting in a booth on the other side of the restaurant. Sighs could be heard from the kitchen, the only other people in the shitty diner.

"Shut up, Caboose," Tucker responded.

"With Grey in the hospital, there's not much we can really do." Explained Carolina with a sigh. "I tried calling Emily at the hospital, but when I did I got a stern talk from the nurse on how much I'm probably stressing her out."

"Doubtful." Tucker rolled his eyes.

"Not our call." Said Carolina. "While she's healing, we can work on other things."

"Like Simmons?"

"Dude who cares about your fucking boyfriend right now." Sneered Tucker. "There's way too much going on anyway."

"Really?" Whispered Simmons, incredulously.

" _No._ " Replied Grif.

"Grif is right, Tucker. As little as it seems, we should probably solve this problem first." Explained Carolina. "It shouldn't be hard."

"Cool. Great." Tucker slid down his chair dramatically, crossing his arms in the process. "We get to be even more stressed. Amazing." Tucker peered over at the table across the room. There, Caboose, Sarge, Donut, Lopez, and Wash sat and talked. Talked seemed to be quite the loose term, as Sarge was spouting random profanities, Donut talked to Lopez, and Caboose was just yelling. Wash, however, seemed to be completely silent. "Why is Wash over there anyway?"

"We need an adult watching the rest of them." Carolina shrugged.

"Yeah, that makes sense." Grif sighed.

"Yeah well, why couldn't Simmons do it?" Tucker asked. "He's the responsible one or something." Simmons snapped out of his quiet daze of stabbing his food to finally pay attention to the conversation.

"Buh?"

"Nice one," Grif said. "Hey, are you gonna eat that?"

 

"¿Por qué estoy aquí? (Why am I even here.)" Asked Lopez, staring at the table. It was a pretty accurate question, as Lopez' diet consisted of motor oil and batteries. Well at least, he probably ate batteries.

"That's a pretty deep question, Lopez!" Answered Donut before taking a sip of his fancy strawberry milkshake.

"Callarse. (Shut up.)" While people with IQs higher than 90 were sitting at the table across the way, the peanut gallery was squabbling about god knows what.

"Remind me to build an eating feature for Lopez, here," Sarge said, pointing his fork at the robot.

"Why?" Asked Donut.

"'Cause ain't it so awkward when someone isn't eating when everyone else is?" He explained with a mouthful of pie.

"Esa es probablemente la característica más inútil para un robot. (That is probably the most useless feature for a robot.)" Lopez said. "Buen trabajo, capitán el burro. (Good job, captain dumbass.)"

"Oh yeah sure!" Said Caboose, nodding profusely. "Washington gets it. Right, Washington?" No response. "Yeah, he gets it."

"Wash?" Donut poked Wash's shoulder, and immediately, the man jerked.

"Wuh- Uh. Yeah." Whispered Washington, wiping the bit of drool from his mouth. "You're right. About something. Whatever."

"Sabes que estás de acuerdo con Caboose, ¿verdad? (You know you're agreeing with Caboose, right?)"

"Yikes! You don't look too good." Donut exclaimed, for once not pointlessly translating for Lopez. Wash could practically feel eye bags under his eyes as he yawned.

"I'll be fine," Washington replied monotonously. Scratching his neck, Wash leaned against the wall, eyes threatening to close. "At least I know I'll be sleeping well tonight." His voice, though admittedly had been getting better, was still strained. It didn't hurt to talk of course, but it by no means sounded great.

"You've been sayin' that a lot lately, y'know," Sarge said, his loud voice easily filling the diner. Wash swore he saw the waitresses rolling their eyes. Couldn't blame them either. Wash has been rolling his eyes for years now.

"Yeah!" Donut nodded. "When's the last time you got any sleep, Wash?"

"Uh..." Wash stared at the empty plate of food for a moment, lost in thought. "Yesterday. Two days ago... Three days. Tops." He said, his words slurred only a bit.

"Oh man! You know- One time I didn't sleep for four days, and I started seeing different colours!"

"Seeing colour is normal, Caboose," Wash mumbled.

"Neat!"

"Maybe that explains why you shoot so many of your own teammates..."

"Hm. No-Nah I don't think that's it!" Caboose happily stammered before stuffing cake into his mouth. Caboose only ordered dessert- so much so that would make Grif proud.

"Deberías tomarte un descanso o algo. (You should take a break or something.)" Lopez said.

"You know," Washington sighed. "every time you talk, I seem to understand you less and less." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The food might have been edible, but the seats were by no means comfy.

"Eso es justo. (That's fair.)" He said, pushing his untouched food towards Sarge. "Work. Difícil. El Breaka." Lopez slowly enunciated his words.

"Lopez is right- you should really take a break soon." Donut agreed.

"I'll take a break when I go to bed."

"Aw- that doesn't count!" Caboose stammered. "Breaks you do fun things, sleeping? That's not- well sleep is pretty fun... Still!"

"I'll be fine."

 

"This TV show." Simmons started. The television spouted words, the actor's accents pierced through the air. "Is utter bullshit."

"I'm glad your taste in shows didn't change at all," Grif said, laying on the couch. He took up most of the space, leaving Simmons a sliver of a seat. "We'd make fun of the show sometimes."

Grif had invited Simmons over- at least he had done it by accident. In reality, he was seconds from a nap until Simmons simply knocked on the door and brought movies with him.

"You said that we should...?" Simmons stammered, and as much as he hates to admit it, he was right. Before Simmons' whole ordeal, Grif would, without a second thought, have kicked him out to take a nap, but something in him made him think otherwise.

And so, there they sat watching Doctor Who, making cynical comments on the plot occasionally. More than occasionally. The only good thing about the show is how easily they could make comments.

"I thought he was gonna die?" Simmons groaned. "How come he's still alive?"

"Revival or something." Grif shrugged.

"You know what would make this show better?" Simmons started. "If the guy who dies every episode stayed dead."

"Hm." Grif pretended to hum in agreement. As hard as he tried to repress it, memories of abandoning his friends resurfaced. He was so pissed that day- the first day they had left he actually convinced himself he was in the right. He raised his head just a bit trying to catch a peek at his buddy.

Simmons' face was illuminated by the television screen. Its light shone on his hair, giving it a slight reddish glow. A small smile was caught on his face, despite the garbage on television. Even with everything he's been through, he still has the energy to be happy. Again, cliché as hell.

With Simmons' memory gone, the person Grif normally vented to was basically out of commision. What he wanted to say, what he's been thinking about for weeks, wouldn't really matter. And yet...

With a small huff, Grif sat up. "You know..." He said with a yawn. "Did Caboose tell you about that? The uh, the whole 'Blue and Red' thing."

Surprised, Simmons looked to the side. "Oh yeah. The magical time travelling reporter... right?"

"Man... What the fuck?" Grif said. "You know what- sure. That's what I get for letting Caboose tell you this shit." On the television, the credits of the show rolled down the screen, annoying music blasting from the speakers.

"I _did_ think the part about his twin brother was weird..."

"Okay. Basically, we thought Church was alive, so you guys scoped it out, and ended up going through a bunch of bullshit." He explained, reaching for the remote. "It was pretty intense."

"It's still hard to believe I was a soldier."

"Psh. Barely." He rolled his eyes. "Half of the time, we just sat around and argued."

"...Yeah, that makes sense." Where was that goddamn remote? The music boomed- it's grating sound a little too much for him to handle right now.

"I mean I wasn't there for half of that whole ordeal," Grif explained. "Thank god too. Too much shit going on."

"Why not?" He asked handing Grif the remote he was so desperately looking for casually. "Didn't they need help?"

"Uh... It was." He shifted in his seat. It was complicated. Not really. "I just didn't want to. I was a dick back then, see?"

"Didn't Caboose say that happened like a few weeks ago?"

"Yeah..." He mumbled, turning down the volume. "It fucking sucked though. Normally I would use any excuse to take a break, but that was terrible."

"How come?" Simmons asked personal questions so casually. Not that it was a bad thing- he'd rather not assault Simmons with a bucketful of emotions.

"Eh. It was uh." Lonely. Silent. The crushing feeling of isolation pushing him down day by day. "Boring." That too.

"Hm." Simmons turned his attention back to the television. It seemed like he had nothing more to say. Which was good- at least Grif thought so. Was that good? Yeah definitely. Simmons wasn't his therapist. He could take care of himself. He has so far. "Well we're here now, right? You got that going for you."

After a few beats, Grif simply muttered a small "Yeah". After a weird silence, Grif stared at Simmons.

Simmons snickered at a joke said by the annoying protagonist but quickly coughed afterwards- probably to cover his ass. His embarrassed smile made him relax just a bit. 

...Maybe someone else has taken care of him for all these years as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not writing in a while...


	7. ERROR...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone meets at the President's office. And then they leave.  
> Simmons has an epiphany while Grif is just... confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep forgetting that this story is more of a character study if anything. I'm also trying to figure out how to write emotional scenes... I'm sorry that this whole story is kind of a goof, I'll get better with time.

Simmons had been without his memories prior to the accident for about five days now. His friends would tell him little stories- one of his favourites involved Grif and him stuffing a shit ton of pop rocks into a single bottle of cola. The end result, however, wasn't too pretty. There was a constant empty-headed feeling buzzing around in his mind, every time Simmons had at least come close to obtaining a past memory, a jarring pain in his temples always forced him out of it. Even with that, he was in fairly high spirits.

He was just _so excited_ to create new memories with him. With Grif at least. Time spent with him brought Simmons a strange sort of comfort. Grif also brought with him an indescribable feeling in Simmons' chest, but he felt as if he couldn't help it. Almost as if it were more of an instinct- or maybe it was a feeling that surfaced even before the amnesia. But that's silly and illogical, and Simmons had no time for that kind of semantics.

Every now and then he'd try to picture how his friends would talk to him before his amnesia problem surfaced _,_ at least instead of _"No, Simmons you never did that"_ or _"No, Simmons you aren't technically a robot"_. Oh dear god isn't that how they talked to Caboose? 

"...the kind of guy who would take the time to read the terms of service on some dumb product." Grif continued. The sun attempted to shine through the mounds of clouds covering its rich light as the two of them walked through the city. 

"Well, I mean that... It..." Simmons tried his hardest not to blurt out what he _knew_ was sensible. "Why would you sign something when you don't know what you're agreeing to?"

"It's like a hundred pages, dude," Grif said. "I think I'll live."

"Whatever." He couldn't say he didn't enjoy moments like this, despite all of the teasings. Grif and Simmons had been called to meet with the others at the president's office; President Kimball was her name. He didn't realize how important he was until then. It was hard to believe someone like him was able to accomplish so much. Taking out an entire organization, putting down a corrupt leader, stopping a planetary war? _Fuck,_ that was a lot on Simmons' shoulders.

Even with all of that, he supposes there is some comfort in the thought of sticking with Grif through all of that.

"How did we know Kimball again?" Asked Simmons as they both passed the same greasy diner they were both forced to go to about two days ago. Well, Simmons was forced to. Grif ate about as much as the kid from that one scene in Matilda. "Was it the crazy rich guy or the civil war?"

"Eh. A little bit of both." Shrugged Grif. "Yeah, that was too much."

"Were you there for that one too?" Grif's mouth twitched, which was normally a terrible sign. He remembered his conversation with Grif yesterday, though not exactly heartfelt, it definitely cleared some things up for him. Simmons was _great_ at saying the wrong thing.  "I mean. I mean like were you... Were _we_ -"

"Nope. Totally unsalvagable. Nice try."

"Sorry." As they began to approach the tall building, Simmons felt just a _little_ nervous. The presidentof Chorusneeded to talk to him. About a huge bomb in a cave, which activated, could possibly blow up the entire planet. Actually, he's seconds away from having a panic attack. Before Simmons was able to walk through the huge double doors of the monument, Grif put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, you... you know I wouldn't just leave you right?" He said almost out of _nowhere_. It was weirdly sudden, but Grif seemed desperate for an answer. Grif, though quiet, added a small _"not again"_ to himself as his voice broke ever so slightly.  _Uh oh._   _Don't mess this up... Don't do it, Captain Simmons._

"I... can't say," Simmons muttered. _Shit_. "I-I don't have any memory of anything so I can't really give you a definitive answer."

"Hm." Grif somehow didn't seem satisfied but decided to drop the conversation. He clearly wasn't the type to talk about this stuff, and Simmons wasn't particularly good at emotional conversations either. Before Grif could let his hand pathetically drop from Simmons' shoulder, Simmons quickly caught it. 

"But," Simmons instinctively squeezed his hand- he was nervous, but it was mainly out of concern. Thank god for the armour too, because Simmons felt his hands get clammy. "I... I don't know why- but I feel like you're _important_ to me. So... yeah. I think you're good." Grif stared at him for a moment. Simmons couldn't see Grif's expression through his huge visor, but Simmons certainly felt his own heart hammering in his ears.

"...I-"

"I hope I'm not interrupting something?" Just outside the door stood a woman the same amount of amour as the two of them, yet instead gave a strange vibe. He thinks it's called "dignity".

"Sh... Hey Kimball," Grif said. Instantly, Simmons dropped his hand, his face flared a bright red as he realized that _she_ was the president. Again, armour was certainly a hassle, but thank god for helmets.

"I'm glad you two came to the call- though just a bit late," Kimball said with a sigh. "I can't blame you, it was a bit out of nowhere."

"Yeah, uh-"

"Sorry ma'am, won't happen again." 

"Jesus," Grif muttered and shook his head. Kimball gave a small chuckle as she folded her arms. 

"I understand that you're suffering from amnesia, but just know that there isn't any need for formalities." She explained. "Sorry to hear about that situation, by the way."

"It-It happens." Simmons shrugged, awkwardly fidgeting with his hands.

"It really doesn't." She said. Well, she got him there. "Carolina and Tucker are already in there. You can go ahead in, I need to do something first."

"Right." Grif nodded as he knocked on Simmons' armour. It made a little metallic _clang._ "Let's go."

 

"This shit is ridiculous," Tucker snorted as his voice echoed in the office. Carolina sat in one of many chairs that sat in Kimball's office. Very uncomfortable.

"It's a _job_ , Tucker." Carolina sighed. "It happens." President Kimball had called the both of them incredibly early in the morning, most likely to check in with the entire bomb situation. The two of them had gotten there the earliest- Carolina had to save Tucker from oversleeping; (Carolina had the displeasure of discovering that Tucker sleeps in the nude. It was a terrible and a somewhat traumatizing experience.)

Lord knows that the team had been through quite a lot for the past few days- the past months even, but she couldn't help that their jobs were stressful. 

"No way!" Tucker bellowed as he paced around the room. "Carolina, I barely got any sleep cause of the hours of detective shit I had to go through yesterday. Not only is my entire body sore, but so is my head! _Goddamn_ , I'm so tired I can't even make a sex joke." 

Tucker, apparently, had been stressed out the most. Of course, Tucker had grown so much since when she had first met him, but for the last five days, he had done nothing but complain. Obviously, it wasn't completely out of character for Tucker, but normally he would complain, then shrug it off and get things done. It had been five days, and he for some reason couldn't drop the subject.

"Tucker." Carolina finally said sternly. She stood up from the uncomfortable office chair and strode towards him. "What is up with you?"

" _Nothing_."

"It's clearly _something_." Carolina had noticed a slight change in Tucker and was glad she was finally addressing it. These boys were not at all good at talking about feelings. Except for Donut. She didn't want to think about her hour-long conversation about feelings with him. Yikes. "So _what_ is _wrong_." She might not have been too good at it either as she had clearly intimidated Tucker a bit.

"..." He thought for a moment, but Carolina patiently waited. She intends to help out Tucker- he's a part of her family. Her weird, stupid, fucked up family. "...Wash got shot in the goddamn throat, Carolina."

"...Oh, I see." Tucker walked over and collapsed into one of the chairs.

"He should be in the hospital, bed- something, but instead he's doing ten times as much work as I am." Tucker groaned. "I swear to god, he's gonna die of exhaustion by next week."

"I can't control Washington's actions, Tucker."

"No, but you can tell him off!" 

"I won't." Tucker slid down the chair, obviously trying to express his anger in a polite and mature manner. "But you will." Taken aback, Tucker sat up.

"Uh... nah?" Tucker hesitated. "Nah I'm good."

"Tucker you clearly care about him-"

"You do too!"

"...but if this has been bothering you for an entire week now, you should really talk to him." Carolina sat next to him. Again, power armour and uncomfortable seats do _not_ mix. 

"Jesus, why do women _always_  give this kind of goddamn advice." Tucker sighed, placing his arm behind the chair.

"Excuse me?"

"Oookay, so what I meant was-"

"Stop." Carolina interrupted. "Trust me, Tucker. Wash needs it right about now- from you especially." Tucker shifted in his seat uncomfortably for a second, most likely not used to the thought of actually dealing with personal problems head-on.

"Fiiine." Tucker groaned. "I'll talk to him later. He's gonna go to bed whether he wants to or not."

"'...Bow-chicka-wow-wow?"

"No. Stop. Shut up." 

"You're terrible at worrying about people by the way."

"Shut uuup." Carolina chuckled as he drawled his words in annoyance. Tucker certainly wasn't easy to talk to, but she was at least glad he was willing to listen.  

"Cool- so are you two gonna keep talking, or are we gonna talk about the huge bomb in the middle of nowhere?" Grif asked from the doorway. Thanks, Grif.

 

Grif, normally, would say that this whole situation is "out of his job description", but he's been through so much that he might as well get paid overtime.

And Jesus these chairs were uncomfortable.

The whole gang gathered in the President's huge office, discussing the whole scenario that they had strolled into, but not without catching up as well. She explained that, although busy with hundreds of other political headaches, Kimball tried to keep the bomb situation on the down low. No need for a worldwide panic obviously. The meeting didn't last too long anyway.

"Do you have any ideas?" Wash asked. Admittedly, his voice was getting a lot better. He didn't need to whisper anymore, though it still held a certain raspiness. 

"I was about to ask you the same thing." Kimball sighed.

"You know who probably _would_ know what to do?" Tucker asked, introducing the question for an obvious answer.

"The Ghostbusters..." Caboose said with a serious tone.

"Grey," Tucker said, completely ignoring the soldier's stupid comment. "But she's in the hospital. What if we come up with a stupid solution, and blow this place the fuck up?"

"Grey needs to rest, Tucker. There's not much we can do in that regard." Kimball said. The huge window that sat right behind her desk poured sunlight into the room. "I'm sure we can come up with something."

"Tenía razón. Es una bomba. Eso es todo lo que realmente me importa. _(I was right. It's a bomb. That's all I really care about.)_ " Says Lopez. 

"Well, what happens in action movies when there's a huge bomb that could blow up the planet?" Asked Grif. He knows it's a pretty stupid proposition, but it's definitely worth a shot.

"They make the bomb go off to show off their cheap CGI effects?" Donut answered. Everyone stopped to look at the soldier. "Well, it's true!"

"We _can't_ let this bomb explode." Emphasises Kimball. Her voice, though calm, was slightly strained. Not unlike Washington, Kimball probably hadn't slept a healthy amount in the past few days.

"We can take the space rocks..." Starts Caboose. "and move them somewhere else."

"Is it sad that Caboose's solution is the best one we've gotten so far?" Grif says as everyone sits in an annoyed silence.

 

"Yo Wash, hold up a sec." Tucker jogged towards Washington as the soldiers poured out of the building. In the corner of his eye, Tucker could notice Carolina stealing a glance at the two of them. Great. Awesome. "I gotta talk to you about something real quick." Washington stopped to wait for Tucker to catch up.

"For the last time, I won't teach you how to throw a knife, and I don't care if 'the chicks will dig it'," Wash said without missing a beat. 

"It... No, it's about work." Tucker said. He wanted to elaborate on his knife throwing idea- maybe to find a way out of the conversation but decided better than to back out. He tried to peer at Carolina to see if she was still listening, but by the time he looked back, she was already gone.

"Oh. You're being serious." His raspy voice, although flat, conveyed sincere surprise. "Okay, hit me."

"You need to chill out and go the fuck to sleep," Tucker said bluntly. "I don't think you've slept _once_ this entire week."

"You're right."

"Stop trying to argue with..." Wait. "Wait hold on, _what_?" Washington gave a sigh as he scratched the back of his neck. Honestly, Tucker envisioned Washington arguing a hell of a lot more. He was really good at being stubborn about his wellbeing. 

"Uh. Grey lectured me yesterday." Wash shrugged as they made their way to the apartments. Wash shuddered, probably at the thought of Grey's sickly sweet tone threatening him to sleep soon. "She called from the hospital just to tell me to sleep."

"Maybe because you have no idea how to take care of yourself?" Tucker scolded, The sunset shone through the slim clouds on his visor, blinding him only a bit. "Makes sense."

"Y'know, I might've expected this from Grey, but from you?" Wash chuckled.

"Man, I'm only telling you this, 'cause you were probably gonna pass out in the middle of the street or some shit."

"Mhm."

"Get hit by a car while you're snoring on the road."

"Sure."

"Whatever, man."

" _Thanks_ though, Tucker," Wash said. "Nice to know that you're looking out for me." They had both walked in silence for a moment, Tucker lost in thought. Wash really didn't know how to take care of himself, did he?

"Yeah sure." He said finally.

 

Grif and Simmons sat in the room, watching television. They've been doing that for a few hours in silence. It, of course, wasn't weird, it was a sort of comforting stillness, but something was in the air that Grif couldn't quite describe. Strange.

The both of were was waiting for orders from Carolina, Washington, Kimball- someone, but the longer the both of them would wait, the less they believed they had anything to do. In the meantime, the tv spouted dialogue that Grif hadn't really cared to listen to. It was around eight, so if they had any midnight missions, Grif would probably already be asleep before they could drag him along.

For the past hour or so, Grif had thought about what Simmons had told him. 

He was important to him. 

It probably shouldn't have meant that much to Grif, but the sentence replayed in his mind over and over like a goddamn broken cassette. Simmons would _never_ have said something like that before the accident. Maybe he could press him for more information. Or maybe he could stay in his own lane.

"I have my flaws too." The television announced, the character said with a strange sort of determination. Grif finally stopped to pay attention to the show. Battlestar Galactica- a classic. He peered over at Simmons who was seemingly engrossed with the show, just as expected.

"The difference in my flaws are personal." The other character, the colonel, said cooly. God, he forgot so much about this show; it had been a while since had ever taken the time to sit down and watch it.

"Yours are profession...al," Simmons says suddenly. The character then repeats after Simmons, just a few seconds later dramatically. "...Huh."

"Dude." Grif, for the first time in a while, got excited. Did he...? "Dude?" He repeated, seemingly unable to think of anything intelligent to say.

"We must have watched this at some point, right?" Asked Simmons.

"Not after your whole ordeal, dude." 

"Oh... shit." Simmons breathed as he wrung his hands together in anxiety. "Uh... Yeah, that makes sense..."

"Does that mean you, y'know, remember anything?" Grif asked eagerly.

"...No," Simmons said after a beat. Before Grif had time to deflate, Simmons interjected. "Wait- maybe! ...Hold on." He ran his hands through his own hair, apparently desperate to think of something. "I'm getting like... little visions? Sort of? But they're about half a second."

"You're gonna have to elaborate, dude." This ordeal reminded Grif of Church in a way, or Epsilon- whatever the hell he actually went by.

"Well, you know when you just had a dream, but you forget about it right when you wake up?"

"Sure."

"It's like that, but if the visions only last for about a half a second," Simmons explained. They were close. They were _so goddamn close_ to getting Simmons back. He just needed to think of a next step.

"So you can't think of anything from before?" Grif asked, ignoring the show's nonsense completely.

"I can try?" Simmons hesitated for a moment, staring at the floor. "Nope. Nothing."

"Okay- maybe we need to like trigger it somehow." Grif sighed.

"Do you have anything like a journal- maybe a scrapbook?" Simmons proposed.

"Thats gay enough for Donut to have!" Grif stood up from the couch, ducking towards the door. "Hold on let me check."

As he exited his room and started down the hall, he was met with the biggest problem since he arrived on Chorus for the second time.

Stairs.

Why couldn't they have fixed the fucking elevator, or maybe everyone should've slept downstairs like reasonable human beings. No matter how many good solutions there were, the steps still loomed in the stairway. But he wouldn't be bested this time. He was determined.

Granted, he nearly collapsed five steps in, but that was to be expected.

When he knocked on Donut's door, he prayed that he was actually in his room. He was never too religious, but if there had indeed been a God, maybe they'd help Grif with this whole stupid situation. Thankfully, Donut opened the door just seconds after.

"Oh hey, Grif!" Donut said, leaning on the doorframe. "'Whaddup'?"

"First, never say that again. Especially in front of me." Grif started, hoping that Donut hadn't said that to anyone else. "Second, do you have a scrapbook?"

"Oh my gosh! You know, I was starting to wonder if you'd ever ask!" 

"Why would I ever ask you about that?"

"Alrighty! Seize life, broseph!"

"I swear to god, if I ever find out who's teaching you to talk like that, I'm gonna lodge a goddamn bullet in their brain." Grif ranted, as Donut left the frame to rummage through his belongings. He either didn't hear him or pretended not to hear him as Donut simply went through his packages of (probably) useless nonsense. 

"Found it~!" Donut said from another room, a victory clear in his voice. As he rushed to the door, Donut handed Grif a huge pink book- it's cover held a strange fluffy fur.

"...I'm trying to figure out if it's worth it..." Grif said after a moment, assessing his situation. "Yeah, you know what? Fuck it. Gimme the book."

"Alright- but remember to return it!" Donut called as Grif began to walk away. "Later, homie!"

"Nope," Grif said, attempting to repress the entire conversation that had just unfolded. The things he'd do for Simmons...

When he begrudgingly waddled back downstairs and walked into his room, he saw Simmons laying on the couch watching television. He looked seconds away from falling asleep. How serene.

"Alright move over, I got the dumb book," Grif said, snapping Simmons out of his daze. Mumbling to himself, Simmons gave him room to sit as Grif opened the book.

"Let's think about this for a second." Simmons says staring at the title "Memory lane" in perfect calligraphy. "Are my memories really worth going through this?"

"Who knows." Says Grif, flipping through the pages eager to find a good memory. Most of these must've been taken by Donut in secret- he doesn't remember posing for any pictures. Especially for Donut. "Okay cool heres a good one."

Good was a loose term really. In the picture, both Grif and Simmons sat and stared both dazedly and angrily into the camera as Donut cheerfully smiled in the corner of the photo. Under the neatly taped photo, the words "Successful Surgery!" sat in a neat cursive.

"This was after the whole cyborg deal. We were tired, you wouldn't stop complaining, and I was seconds away from murdering both Sarge and Donut in cold blood."

"I've been wondering about that actually." Started Simmons, pointing at the picture. "What was the reason for that anyway?"

"I got ran over by a tank, and Sarge wanted a new cyborg."

"...Man."

"You wanted the story to be cooler, didn't you?"

"Yeah..." Simmons said dejectedly with a sigh.

"You remember anything yet?" Grif asked. Simmons glanced at the photo for a moment, seemingly collecting his thoughts.

"Kind of?" Simmons said finally. "I think it's working!"

"Alright hold on." Grif flipped through more pages. _No. No. Embarrassing. What the fuck, Donut?_ HowDonut was able to obtain some of these photos was beyond him, but he can interrogate him later. "Okay here." Grif, Simmons, Caboose, and Tucker were on a huge stage as Kimball stood on a large podium, giving a speech. The four of them had medals drapped around their necks.

"This was after the war when Kimball gave us those medals or whatever," Grif explained. "I remember the entire time you were blubbering like a huge baby."

"We were being awarded the highest honor, Grif, of course I was crying!" Simmons defended as he folded his arms.

"It must not have been that high of an honour if I couldn't remember what kind of medals they gave us," Grif answered, a slight smirk threatening to form.

"That's because you fell asleep standing up during the entire thing." Simmons sighed. "See look- you're all slouched over!"

"Huh, holy shit. Donut's gay storybook is working." Grif said. Simmons seemed to be starting to regain some of his memory as the more they flipped through the pages, the more little comments he was able to add. There were some that he didn't remember at all, but others he seemed to be able to get in a heartbeat. Things seemed to be looking up.

"Wait hold on." Simmons interrupted as Grif sifted through more pages. "Which one was that one?" Simmons turned back a few pages, they were almost at the end of the book, until they hit a group picture.

Donut goddammit.

The group crowded and posed around the couch, some smiled and some made faces, while Simmons had his head buried in Grifs shoulder as they both were sound asleep. Some of them seemed to have struggled to keep themselves from snickering, while others were eager to see the picture in it's entirety.

"Jesus." Grif muttered.

"That was after a movie night." Simmons said without even flinching at the photo. "We had just watched Die Hard and I passed out on your arm. I-I think it was Die Hard."

"It was some cop movie. I forgot too, so it couldn't have been all that great." Simmons sat in silence for a moment.

"Hah..." 

"What's up?" Asked Grif, tearing his eyes away from the photo. He was unable to stare at the picture without flushing only a bit. Simmons seemed to have no problem with it as he took the time to examine every detail of the scene.

"...This is going to sound weird, I think. Maybe." Simmons sighed finally breaking eye contact with the photo. "I... I think I was in love with you?"

"...No kidding...?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are scenes kind of... short? Next chapter will be like ten times longer than this I swear. And there'll be REAL Grimmons content.


	8. Welcome Back - Simmons 2.0 !

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things get resolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't quite as long, which wasn't exactly what I intended, but boom! Finished!

Simmons didn't seem to notice what he had just said. Or maybe he did. Grif wasn't sure.

His eyes simply scanned the photos that were neatly taped into the organized pink notebook, trying to recall the memories the element had stripped away from him. The room's light bounced gently off of Simmons' hair, giving it's already reddish color a softer tint. The room's stillness after his surprising sincerity made Grif light-headed.

Simmons hadn't realized how much of an impact his statement had made.

And as Simmons attempted to recollect bits and pieces of his life, for the first time Grif couldn't help but wonder how much of it had involved him.

 

Tucker stood in front of the godforsaken mine, speculating on how much of the past week had been wasted because of it. Crows circled lazily overhead the area as the group began to gather. Carolina spoke to her intercom, the moonlight shone on each of them about as bright as the flashlights both Donut and Caboose were playing with, as they itched to get the mission over with. Tucker could barely see anyone else, despite the light that glowed overhead, their figures shadowed.

"Are you in yet?" Said the woman's voice from Carolina's old radio. "I'm eager to see how you take the solution!"

Right.

Doctor Grey, despite the hospital's constant pleads, worked nightly to figure out a solution to their annoying little problem, for reasons beyond Tucker's comprehension. Everyone was unsure if she was even allowed to even call them- especially at this hour, but like, who cares. A smart science guy helping them out with a stupid science life-or-death scenario was right up Tucker's alley. That situation was placed right next to an _extremely_  hot bachelorette gangbang, meeting that attractive brunette waitress at the Pizza Hut again- which he swears to god she was hitting on him too, and not fucking dying. He prefers the ladder at this point, honestly.

In the vehicle sat gallons of gasoline and frag grenades, which fucking terrified Tucker. Sarge, the man with an itchy trigger finger, Lopez, the guy who would probably sell each and every one of them for about a goddamn dime, and Caboose, ...who was Caboose. Why they had brought any of that was beyond Tucker so he hopes that the hour or so of torture driving here was worth it.

"We're not in yet..." Carolina gave a small sigh as she squinted into the distance. Wash had signed off early- passing out at about eight, which was pretty understandable. Carolina had called both Grif and Simmons a few times, though they hadn't bothered to pick up, which ultimately made them start without them. It was probably for the best- Simmons might've lost his memory again sending Grif into another episode. "We're just about to."

"Yeah- so what's the plan though? We got a huge fuckin' bomb down there." Tucker gestured to the mine, forgetting for a moment that she couldn't see him.

"Right!" Her voice blasted through the intercom, the group gathering closer to listen in. Everyone had huddled around Carolina. "Well, it's not exactly a bomb, but just volatile."

"Call it what you want, it blew up your house."

" _Anyway_ ," She continued. "The element can be pretty unstable when interacted with any kind of technology. It's very scarcely used as an additive in baking powder but never found in huge doses like  _that_. It may be why Lopez was unaffected during his time in the mines."

"Because he has all those MRE's stuffed deep inside him?" Donut asked.

"Mal...Maldita sea...  _(God...Goddammit...)_ "

"But, like I said many times, technology is _bad_. I would even advise turning off this radio before you go down there."

"What are we gonna do once we're down there?" Asked Tucker impatiently.

"The element can be subdued by either breaking the mineral piece by piece until its simply protons and electrons," She added a small pause. "Or with gasoline."

"G...Gasoline?" Carolina stammered.

"Yes, gasoline."

"Gasoline...?" Sarge asked, probably on the verge of goddamn tears.

"Gasoline."

"Fucking... gasoline," Tucker said. "Are you trying to say we have to blow up this goddamn bomb? When we specifically got orders not to?"

"Strange of you to care about orders now, Tucker," Carolina said.

"A bomb, though."

"Again, we shouldn't classify it as a bomb. And as an element, it's surprisingly weak, at least in its alien standards."

"It  _blew up_... your  _house_..."

"So... just so I'm clear." Sarge's voice quivered, almost unsure of Grey's ridiculous offer. "You're... givin' us permission to blow this place into orbit?" The thought of Sarge wrecking shit with any type of explosion was terrifying in itself, but when he was given _permission?_

"Well, simply setting it on fire would be preferable, but whatever works for you," Grey said. "I feel like you guys would've been the best fit for the job!" Unnecessary explosions _were_ sorta their forté. As Sarge had a goddamn field day gathering as much gasoline and explosives as possible, eagerly yelling at his soldiers to collect supplies as well, Tucker stared deep into the mine.

Set fire to the mine, go home and sleep, done. Easier than it sounds, right? Well actually, it wasn't too bad- aside from Red Team's endless bickering, Donut constantly dropping grenades- giving everyone a goddamn heart attack with each drop, and the lack of Grey giving them small snippets of advice telling them not to do anything idiotic, it wasn't the worst time of his life.

Sarge excitedly poured every inch of the element with gasoline as Donut carefully and decoratively set down a few grenades near the clustered rocks.

"Would anyone like to say their final words before this element is gonzo?" Asked Sarge, taking out a pack of matchsticks. He swears to god, Sarge saves that box for a special occasion.

"It's a rock."

"Doesn't matter."

"I got shit to say," Tucker spoke up, turning most of the attention over to him. "It blew shit up, did something to Simmons- as if I care in the first place, and now it got its shit fucked. Good riddance."

"Well said," Sarge said. He carefully sparked a match, lifting the stick up for everyone to see.

"Wait- when you light the gasoline, will we have enough time to get out of here?" 

"...Oh yeah."

 

"..."

"...What?" Asked Simmons after a bit. "Did I say something weird? I said something weird didn't I?"

"What? Nah- No... Nope." Grif stammered.

"No dude- you're totally red. I said something weird." Fuck, was he? Shit. Uhh.

"Uhh." Fucking smooth. "Don't worry about it." Finally aware of the atmosphere he created, Simmons sat straighter on the couch clutching the book a bit tighter. Normally, in a scenario like this, it would be perfect to ask him elaborate- maybe Grif could talk about how he feels as well. But in all honesty? Fuck that. He's pretty terrible at talking about this kind of shit. Sure, he might've fallen for Simmons a shit ton since fucking  _basic training,_ but he would of course never  _act_  on it. He would simply let the feeling linger for maybe his entire life until he hopefully got over it. But now that he knows that Simmons feels the same way, he's having a bit of a meltdown. 

Simmons gazed at only one of the photos on the page, tensing with each passing second. Maybe he was starting to remember. Grif could so clearly imagine the look of disgust on his face when he would realize what he had said. The embarrassment of expressing his feelings and getting rejected after the hope of a happy ending. Nah. He's good.

So in the meantime, he's gonna miss this "opportunity". He'll keep his mouth shut while Simmons remembers about everything they've gone through together. Things will go back to normal, and they could go back to making dick jokes again.

Yeah. 

"...I meant it y'know." Fuck. Simmons didn't turn away from the book and instead gave a small sigh. His ears were slowly turning pink, his breathing becoming funny for just a moment. "Uh- okay. I mean. It's..." Simmons cupped his hands over his own face, to gather a breath maybe. "Yeah, uh. Nevermind. It's fine."

"...You sure?"

"Yep!"

"Okay. Cool."

"Yeah, cool."

...He was having a... what are those called... an existential crisis? He finally has a chance at this, but... there... really wasn't any reason to keep doubting this, is there? The undeniable proof presented in front of him on a silver platter, and he still refuses to take it. Was he so used to denying happiness, that it became a habit?

"...I mean you're just gonna leave that there? You're not gonna elaborate?" Grif said. He finally made his decision, he'd better stick with it.

Immediately, Simmons let his face grow red at his question.

"I-Well I mean..." After a moment of silence, he gave a small sigh. He muttered something to himself and finally braved a look at Grif. He looked nervous. Grif was nervous. "I'm starting to... remember? I'm getting memories back at least..." Simmons pauses.

"When we first met, I thought you were an idiot."

"Thanks."

"Really though! You're  _still_  an idiot..." He's getting better. Definitely. "...but you're still one of the first people I ever cared about... You really were important to me. Don't look at me like that!" Grif must not have realized that he was smiling. He really couldn't help it. "Yeah- I remember I'd feel... I'd feel  _happy_ with you. So I realized how important you were when you quit."

"Even with all of the bullshit going on, I'm not gonna leave you again."

"I know! Don't worry, I know. I... uh... you..." He paused. Simmons looked away for a moment, clutching "...Sorry, I just. Remembered... everything." His smile faltered.

Cool. Cool great. So they're gonna stop there then. They'll probably drop this conversation. They'll pretend it never happened, and things will go back to normal. Of course, Grif was okay with this.

"You good?"

"Yeah." Simmons shifted in his seat, massaging his temples. "Jesus that hit me like a truck... or maybe, like, an eighteen-wheeler... Man, I guess I expected to faint or something..." Slowly, Simmons tense posture eased as his flushed cheeks regained its color. He shut his eyes for a moment. Weird. Maybe he really should just drop it. They were good enough friends as it is, maybe acting on it would ruin everything. He was never one for change.

"I love you."

And that's when Grif had a heart attack.

Sometimes, when he wasn't able to sleep, Grif would imagine him saying that. It might've been one of the things that kept him up, but he never minded. Sometimes he'd let the phrase repeat, the voice would ring in his ears.

To actually hear the phrase- to be able to see Simmons say it. It sent him for a loop.

"...Are you... sure?"

"Am I- dude." Simmons stammered. "Yeah, I'm sure." Grif gestured to himself with a skeptical look. Simmons nodded knowingly.

"That might be a mistake." Grif rubbed his neck and let his hand fall to his side. Simmons huffed and tossed Donut's stupid book to the floor. Grif had nearly forgotten about that. "But I uh... I l... me too."

"Oh come on- give me this, dude." Grif couldn't help but give a light chuckle as Simmons' face began to flare up again. He couldn't help but let the smile once again grow on his face. Simmons deserved better, Grif knew this. But when Simmons stared at Grif for a moment, when he returned with the most gentle smile, Grif figured it was okay to be selfish this one time.

"Love you too, uh, dude." It was so weird to say that again. He hadn't said it in maybe years, actually, and yet there he was. Simmons reached for the remote to turn up the television's volume- he hadn't realized it was even on, though refused to meet Grif's gaze.

"Cool. Cool- uh. Yep." Simmons stuttered, as he pressed the buttons of the remote.

"You still remember how to work that? Or do we gotta look through a gay scrapbook for that too?"

"You... We just..." 

"Yeah. I know. Making things less awkward."

"It's working." Simmons watch the moving figures on the screen, moving a bit closer to Grif. Their arms were touching, which made his heart skip a beat, as tacky as that sounded. He was never one for change, but this was admittedly pretty nice. "We're pretty bad at this, aren't we?"

"Yeah." After a few moments and a few lines of dialogue from the television, Simmons gave a small cough.

"So. Does that mean we can, like..." He bit his lip.

"We can what?"

"Nope, nevermind." Simmons huffed, turning his attention back to the television. He seemed fairly embarrassed as he cleared his throat and watched the characters interact with each other on the screen. Grif could probably guess what Simmons was trying to elude to.

So he leaned forward and kissed him. Which, he'll be honest, was the last thing he expected himself to do, a spike of anxiety surged through him. He could feel the heat from Simmons' cheeks as he felt his hand brush Grif's neck unsurely. His touch was surprisingly delicate- it gave Grif a small shiver as he smiled through their kiss. He could feel his heart race, letting his hands trace down to Simmons' waist. 

They had both leaned back on the couch, though Grif was a bit apprehensive- only for Simmons' sake. He saw Simmons use his spare hand to search for the remote, ultimately turning off the television, but didn't bother to stop as he let his other hand tangle into Grif's hair.

The last time he'd done something like this, they had both been feverishly desperate for each other's touch, they barely stopped to breathe. It feels so much different now. Simmons was gentle and hesitant, though willing. 

He heard the radio from across the room tune in, most likely calling them for more unnecessary work. Neither of them bothered to answer.

 

"Where the fuck were you guys?" Tucker asked, glaring at Grif through the doorframe. He was covered with ash and dust, though his helmet was held under his arm which revealed his face that seemed unaffected by whatever the hell happened. Black tracks in the terrible carpet of the building traced behind him.

"What d'you mean?" He feigned confusion.

"We were calling you for like a fuckin' hour, you didn't hear any of that?"

"Nah man, I was helping Simmons get his memory back." He pointed back to Simmons. In the room, he gave a little wave on the couch.

"Oh shit. So he's good now?" Grif paused. Simmons was good now. "Like he got his memory back and shit?"

"Yeah, he's got everything sorted out..." Grif scanned Tucker as he ended up leaning on the frame. "What happened to you?" Tucker groaned.

"Your goddamn team gave me a fuckin headache the entire time. Not to mention Sarge was given _permission_ to blow shit up."

"Jesus."

"Fucking tell me about it!" Tucker sighed and pinched his nose. "The whole rock problem is dealt with though, thank god. We don't have much to do now I don't think."

"That's probably the best thing to happen to me in my entire life," Grif said.

"Hey- Excuse me!" Simmons called from the room irritably. Of course, he really did feel a slight relief, but with everything that happened with Simmons, it was no goddamn contest.

"Yeah, yeah whatever." Tucker skeptically looked over the two over.

"What happened to you two?"

"Wh-Wha? Nothing- Nothing happened," Grif stammered. Great job, asshat. "Why?"

"You're less sulky,"

"I was never... _sulky_ ,"

"You were sulky for a while, dude." Tucker jeered.

"You really were!" Simmons agreed loudly. The television spouted one-liners from a show Grif hadn't bothered to pay attention to for about the past hour, though Simmons seemed awfully invested. He had other things on his mind.

"Shut it, Simmons." Grif peered back into the room to see him cross his arms and lean back on the couch, focusing on his show once again. It admittedly made him smile a bit.

"Whatever man, just tell me when you guys end up making out. I'll be able to finally say 'I told you so'." Grif rolled his eyes.

"...Trust me, dude. You'll be the first to know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for leaving Y'all hanging for about a month, I've been so focused on school that I forgot to finish this! But it's finished and on a Sunday no less! Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> I plan on writing as much as I can, as this is a fic I do plan on finishing. I hope to update every other sunday.  
> If you want to talk, contact me at:  
> https://never-been-redder.tumblr.com/  
> I'd be happy to freak out about random shit!


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